Audeiu aux Armes
by Deuceposter
Summary: A competent officer leads and inspires their soldiers. A competent officer learns about and understands their soldiers. But a competent officer does not fraternize with their soldiers. A competent officer does not let themselves be compromised. He had forgotten those words.
1. Chapter 1: Griffin - The Commander

The commander hung up the communication line, taking a silent moment to rub his eyes in frustration. Nothing was to go his way this week, first a missing patrol, then a direct mission from Helian tagged with the utmost urgency. It was a good thing he called a general muster before he started the briefing call with his superiors. They had been surveilling the site that Helian designated, but overland access was limited to one or two foot-mobiles the past two days- underground tunnels most likely. No floorplan or building blueprint existed in any archives for the sector. Not even damned power-grid information, if they were even running on external power. Drones sent in to scout went dead outside of the facility- scrambled by some sort of electro-magnetic field. Any assault into the facility would be like flying blind.

Unless they could find a work around in the next few hours, it was looking like this was a mission that _had_ to be conducted by humans, at least the initial phase. As one of the few field commanders of G&K that had practical military experience, even if it was only time spent in partisan forces, of course the assignment would fall in his lap. Past sins coming back for him, as it were.

"Stack the deck in your favor." He grumbled, "Every piece positioned perfectly…"

"Commander, the strike team leaders are assembled and waiting in the briefing room." The soft, calm voice of G36 came from his office door, his adjutant standing at attention just as the maid protocols dictated her to be.

The commander ruffled his already ragged hair, much to his adjutant's displeasure, before pulling a thumb drive from his personal computer. He hadn't even bothered to throw on the annoyingly red coat and beret as demanded of G&K officers. He wanted nothing to do with G&K right now.

"Thirty-six." The commander spoke without turning, knowing full well his adjutant was close behind him, silently grumbling her master's lack of protocol, "What is your opinion on joint human-T-doll operations?"

"I would be thoroughly against such operations. It is our purpose as T-dolls to remove the need for humans in hazardous assignments." Of course G36 hadn't hesitated in her answer, it was practically hard-wired into her digi-mind.

"Ah, of course." The commander fiddled with the thumb drive in his pocket as they approached the briefing room. Quick, informal greetings to his team leaders that had gathered. Of the ten echelons the base -well, nine echelons currently- only four were considered for the strike team.

G36 had already set up the display and booted all the necessary programs, so all the commander needed was to plug the external drive in. The holographic display flashed to life in a dull, pale blue simulacrum from a satellite picture. A concrete plant and warehouses, formerly Sanvis Ferri, but cleared in previous combat operations.

"Patrols in the area have gone silent, both from our base, as well as independent G&K teams." The commander placed his hands into the display and stretched them wide, zooming the image. "We've narrowed the center of these disappearances to this warehouse area." On his verbal cue, G36 overlayed the patrol data, showing all last known positions in small, red dots. A clear ring of these red dots surrounded facility.

A hand went up, a young-looking T-doll with a defined scar down her eye- the leader of Echelon Three. She needn't ask for permission to speak, but she still demanded the floor for the moment, "Has there been any S.F. signals detected?"

"No. Nothing of their sort. If anything, what is most concerning is that there _is_ nothing." The commander nodded to UMP45's question, though the veteran T-doll seemed dissatisfied by the answer.

A silence hung in the air, a hesitancy born from the commander. A mistake had been made that he didn't wish to air, but there was no longer any way to hide it.

"Team FN had been sent to investigate two days ago. The results of their scouting mission lined with coinciding reports from other commanders as well as central G&K staff." The commander danced around a particular worry he had, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. "There is enough evidence to believe that this facility is a black market. Scrubbed T-Dolls, parts, and weapons." The commander sneered, flipping the image over a few of the surveillance photos for his teams to analyze, "Upon the discovery of it, IOP has contracted us to shut them down and seize anything that appears to be IOP proprietary design. We are also tasked with securing any Sangvis Ferri tech that they might have scavenged. Any civilians on site are to be flagged as criminal in nature and are to be subdued and detained for proper authorities."

T-Dolls were not soldiers. They were tools meant to battle the renegade Sangvis Ferri, and anything else that threatened the order of what they could call 'human society'. To send them after other humans was against their protocols. Was that why Team FN hadn't returned? T-doll were supposed to be disposable...

_Then why did we make them look like us? Why did they have us empathize with them._

He had a problem over-empathizing with his soldiers before joining G&K. It was why he had to leave.

Yet here too, over empathizing again with _machines_.

Why did he send them? Why did it have to be _them?_

"Commander?" The soothing voice from G36, ever attentive to human emotions, had pulled him from the downward spiral. Wordlessly he thanked G36.

"From Team FN's last transmission, within the facility is an electro-magnetic field that scrambles or otherwise messes with electronics- a signal jammer in its most basic form but we have reason to believe that it may be stronger than that. We will be unable to send teams directly into the warehouse until the jammer is found and disabled."

The dolls attending the meeting immediately began murmuring, each having their own take on the mission, and each stumbling across the same bump. Only one had raised her hand.

"Yes, Zas?" The commander pointed to the lighting-blue haired doll, whom, while everyone else was excitedly chatting, was quietly studying the image of the area of operation.

"Can we cut power to the facility?" Her question was logical, rational as expected from this particular doll.

"We have no intelligence on wether or not it is a feasible course of action, but it is safer to assume that they do not rely on external power. Given the sudden arrival of this anomaly, it is believed that they are using a mobile generator of sorts." It was an unwanted answer, a delivery of bad news that made the commander wince. Zas, however, had not changed in her expression. If anything, she seemed… less concerned now?

"If no ground teams can enter the facility, does that mean a human will have to enter first?"

"Exactly that."

The commander's affirmation silenced the room. Before any could voice their concern, the commander capitalized on the newfound quiet.

"I will be personally taking the field." The protests to his declaration were instantaneous and fervent, but the commander quietly raised a hand for them to cease. "We will take as many precautions as possible."

"Permission to speak?" A small hand went up, a white-haired doll of thin stature- one could easily mistake her for anything _but_ a heavy-duty machine-gun wielder.

"Granted."

The doll pulled the absurdly tall collar of her jacket farther down so that she could project her voice better. "What about tearing down a wall, or opening the warehouse gate? We can fire in from outside their bubble."

"It was initially considered, PKP, but the contract with IOP stipulates to minimize the amount of collateral damage, as well as take any prisoners we can for intelligence on this ring." The commander frowned, "The operation must be surgical, unfortunately." Bless the dolls for their concern, but some were not cut to be tacticians- in fact, only a select few had that processing capability.

"Forty-five-" The commander locked his eyes with the constantly calculating glare of UMP-45, those golden irises of hers ever unflinching as he spoke, "Yours will be the strike team that will breach when the jamming field is down."

Again, the other T-dolls began mumbling amongst themselves. The rumors surrounding the convenient arrival of "special" dolls from IOP following UMP-9's arrival. A suspicion always seemed to hang over the four "newbies", as they were anything _but_ new. Despite that, the majority of the base had welcomed them with open arms, the commander included.

And perhaps most importantly, they earned their keep.

"This is a 'high-speed, low-drag' mission. Your team will drop with me. As we'll have to enter the area of the operation by foot and without drawing attention, no dummies."

To any other T-doll, the lack of dummies was a cause for concern. A massive reduction in firepower as well as great personal risk to the mainframe doll, but the commander knew that of all the teams under his command, UMP-45's thrived in difficult assignments with minimal oversight or instructions.

"Usual crowd, commander?"

"Purely _your_ team. If you need Welrod's assistance on the insertion-"

"No need." UMP-45 smiled coldly, "We've been through that sector before, we have our routes. You can come along with _us_ if you wish."

The commander nodded, having full faith in UMP-45's skills. His attentions turned to the other three team leads, each of whom looked as if their thunder had been stolen.

"Echelons Two and Four will be on overwatch positions, ensuring no one enters or exits the facility, or to greet S.F. if they decide they want their warehouse back." He tapped the image, highlighting the points where the other teams should deploy, "WA, spread your team out to ensure that you have good coverage of the north and west, though you are not cleared to engage unless your targets have definitive S.F. signatures. PKP, your team is covering south and east, your rules of engagement are the same as WA's team. Pass your data along as your run prep. Your teams are allowed fully dummy-support."

"I assume that means Echelon Five will be on rapid reaction for Echelon Three?" Zas waved off her displeasure at being "_just"_ a backup.

"And standby for recovery if Team FN is found. Otherwise you will secure an immediate landing zone."

Concern for Echelon One, or perhaps the rational reasoning for her team's deployment to a mission that arguably didn't require them had smoothed Zas's ruffled feathers.

"That's all. Prep your teams for a light load and be ready at the hangar by twenty-two-hundred, you will depart an hour after us." He motioned for the dolls to dismiss themselves as he continued to stare at the hologram, "Forty-five, standby a moment."

"Yes, commander~?" Spoke in that poisonously sweet tone of hers, a smile wide upon that youthful mask. It was a cold expression, jarring for a face so young.

"The hostiles will be humans, most likely."

"That won't be a problem."

Hearing her dismissal of human life sent a chill through his spine. It was the reason why only 45's team could handle the assault. Having to give lethal overrides to all of his other echelons _was_ certainly simpler when he was present on the field, but the cost...

"Commander~" 45's gaze was unblinking, her eyes glowing from the reflection of the hologram- but it was unsettling nonetheless.

"Yes, Fourty-five?"

"Am I to assume that we are going to be _non-lethal_-" She hissed those hated words, "-to maintain appearances?"

"At least two of your four on non-lethal methods. More for my safety until we regroup."

UMP-45 tipped her head, her expression unchanging from the dry, false smile.

"Whatever could you mean, commander?"

"Given your team's efficiency," he weighed his words carefully, knowing full well what _this_ T-doll was capable of, "I would rather be secured in your company before real bullets start flying."

"Affirmative, commander. We will only use lethal force after regrouping…" 45 paused momentarily, her whole body seemingly frozen for just a second. "I requisitioned rubber bullets chambered in nine-millimeter and five-five-six, as well as tranquilizer injectors and zip-ties from Kalina. I assume this will be sufficient?"

The commander nodded.

"Then I look forward to seeing what you are capable of, commander~" 45 waved merrily as she exited the briefing room, but that haunting presence of hers still lingered.

The commander threw his hands down upon the display table, letting out his frustrations with a deep and troubled sigh.

"Master."

He went rigid in an instant, G36 still standing attentively by the computer. She had heard the exchange between he and 45 then-

"I can see that you are greatly troubled. Please, take a seat."

"Ah, Thirty-six, if you could kindly forget what you had just heard."

"I am afraid I am not granted those permissions. You will have to contact IOP-"

"I'm kidding. I trust you, Thirty-six."

G36 was not one for gossip- that itself was a valuable feature give how rumors on the base could spread as fast as a doll's neural-network connection would let them.

"I'm worried." He confessed. G36's expression lightened, though he was unsure of if it was because she was much closer in proximity to him now, or genuine empathy.

"We are all worried about our comrades." G36's reply was a logical answer to his statement, but it wasn't exactly what the commander meant. He sighed, taking the seat that G36 had pulled for him.

"I'm worried I'm putting too much on Forty-fives's team." Lethal protocols were not to be given lightly. It was an intrusive override on a doll's mind-map- it had the potential to cause residual damage to their personality modules, as well as stress their processing at the expenditure of other vital programs they needed to run.

And from what data he and his maintenance team had managed to piece together, UMP-45's team all had the protocol permanently enabled. IOP must have switched them on for a reason, so he hadn't questioned it… but still, to let one team conduct all of the dirty work for the sake of preserving the mind-maps of the others felt… wrong.

"You instructed them to use non-lethal methods. Combined with their lethal protocols, they will not hesitate in disabling humans deemed hostile."

G36 summarized his tactical reasoning in an instant. Even when instructed and provided non-lethal methods against humans, T-dolls tended to hesitate- causing harm to a human was immensely taxing on their processors, and even non-lethal methods inflicted _harm_. It's why most models made for poor policing units past traffic stops and community outreach.

She seemed to hold his regard for human life in high respect.

How wrong she was.

"If you can, Thirty-six, prepare my kit."

The maid android nodded as she went over his order, "H&K MP5SD, three magazines of full metal jacket, two magazines of rubber-round, type three ballistic-"

He winced. The maid tilted her head slightly, quietly reading his expression before changing the requisition, "Three magazines with full metal jackets, two tranquilizer injectors, type two ballistic-"

He winced again, hunching a bit in guilt this time as G36's eyes narrowed further.

"No ballistic armor, a _ballistic trauma emergency kit_-" G36 was practically squinting with her frown as she hissed her requirement to his kit, "set to a type-two H-harness."

"Yes. Thank you."

The maid bowed, setting off on her mission with the utmost diligence. Her protectiveness was certainly endearing, but he hadn't the time nor the patience to explain to G36 that if he was caught up in a firefight, then he had already failed his mission.

Six hours until he had to be ready, and he doubted that even if he had a whole day to prepare, that he would be. He sighed into his hands, quietly thumbing the silver band around one of his fingers.

No, this was a mission he _had_ to participate in. He owed _them_ that much.


	2. Chapter 2: 404 - UMP45

'_The payment is acceptable. Restate the mission objectives.'_

**_**The analysis data of the device is the priority. Secondary is, if possible, safe recovery of the device. Tertiary is termination of anyone who knows how the device functions._**

'_And the commander?'_

**_**[REDACTED] is typing…_**

**_**..._**

**_**Expendable. Terminate if he falls under the tertiary objective_****.**

'_Affirmative.'_

**_**I look forward to further business with you._**

**_**[REDACTED] disconnected._**

UMP-45 unjacked from the console, diligently packing away her cables and tools within one of the bases' many tool-boxes, ensuring that she left everything exactly as she had found it. With the base preparing for mobilization of no-less than four squads, no one had noticed 45 quietly returning from the communication's relay with tool-box in hand. She left it in a nondescript locker within the engineering storeroom before making her way to the quartermaster.

"Ah, Fourty-five! Kalina put these aside for you-" Super SASS had lit up the moment 45 walked through the door. The bright and eager doll, operating as Kalina's assistant for the day, pushed the cardboard box full of the requisitioned supplies through the small opening in the bandit cage.

"Thank you." 45 signed off for the supplies, and hefted the box, but paused a moment. SASS's violet eyes were wide with awe while watching her.

"Are… are you really going on a mission with no dummies?" The young T-doll was star-struck. For G&K dolls, a sign of veterancy was displayed with how many dummies you could link to, a mark of prowess to be able to command four other shells as a human officer would command a fire team. To actively forgo dummy-links for a mission was to rely purely on skill that the digi-mind had acquired.

It was a sentiment that gave UMP-45 pause. Despite their frames appearing the same age, UMP-45 _felt_ older. Much older. She was looked up to by the younger models on the base, by the inexperienced still running simulations and logistics. As much as she loathed interacting with the other G&K dolls, 45 felt that, as the mature one, she should at least be cordial.

"Dummies come with downsides. They eat processing power, are hard when you need precise control, and drain resources." 45 spoke matter-of-factly, "For example, would you want to supply me with four more sets of this?"

"No, not particularly." SASS grimaced, looking at the contents of the box one last time. Non-lethal kit meant hostile action against humans. It was a mission that a doll wired for such a kind-hearted personality would suffer from the most.

"Dummy's don't make or break your combat effectiveness, but you will get there eventually, so try not to think about it. You do good work, SASS." The words felt hollow coming from 45, but the quartermaster doll brightened up anyways, distracted from the grim turn of the conversation.

"Good luck on your mission!" SASS waved her farewell, to which 45 smiled back.

When the door shut behind 45, what could have been considered a smile had melted from her face. She made for her squad's dorm instead of the assembly room.

"Sis is back!" A auburn haired, twin-tailed doll leapt from the couch, eyes twinkling as she dashed to 45. "What kind of toys did you bring me?" UMP-9's grin was wide, faltering only a moment when their neural network sparked to life.

'_Our line secured?'_ 45 pinged her sister.

'_Of course, sis.' _9's response was snappy, '_No one from the base is snooping.'_

"Where is Four-sixteen?" 45 frowned, sliding the box onto the table, '_New mission.'_ Even as words left her voice box, the second conversation over their closed network pinged back and forth.

"I'm here." An ashen haired doll growled, trying to pull the fourth member of their team from bed, '_Send the data packet. Maybe it will kick Eleven's processor awake.'_ 416's voice over the neural network was just as hostile as it was in the meat-space.

"G-eleven is not here right now... Please leave a message." The small doll thudded onto the floor, but her eyes remained closed. Even when 45 started passing the transcripts from their client, the little sloth pinged back '_G-eleven is not here right now… Please leave a message.'_

It earned the small doll a swift, but gentle kick from 416.

"Rubber rounds? Tranquilizers?" 9 had started scattering the contents of the box across the table haphazardly. '_Human targets? Why not just let us go lethal?'_

"Rubber rounds? Really, what is the commander up to?" 416's face had curled from a look of frustration to disgust as she left 11 for the floor, instead making her way to the table. '_Non-lethal rounds. What is this mission?'_

"And what is _this?_" 416's words both in the network and out of her mouth snapped at the exact same moment that the doll held up a box of rubber bullets, the side printed with '_5.56 caliber'_.

"Uh… rubber rounds? Duh." 9 had already dumped her box of rounds out upon the table, quickly loading up a few magazines. They weren't supposed to have any equipment in the dorms, but 9 had convinced the commander to let them at least prep certain things here- given how difficult it was to move G11 sometimes.

"I see that, but why do _I_ have rubber rounds?" 416 shook the box at 45 before pointing an accusing finger at the sleeping G11 that had rolled just the slightest bit closer to their conversation, "Why doesn't _she_ get rubber rounds?"

45 took the firestorm of words from the belligerent 'elite' doll, smiling all the way through it, which only angered HK416 more. With a dismissive shrug and smug smile, 45 pointed out the obvious, "No one from the past invented caseless rubber ammunition, or bothered to store the data for it. By all means, if you can invent and manufacture non-lethal caseless rounds within the next five hours, I will gladly have Eleven carry them and _you_ can be set back to lethal for the mission."

The bullets rattled in their box as anger caused the mechanisms in 416's arm to spasm. '_I am a __weapon__-'_

'_Yes yes, I know, a perfect weapon.'_ 45 dismissed, "The commander's mission requires us to carry non-lethal methods." - '_The client's mission requires us to carry lethal ammunition anyways. Even if the commander doesn't clear us for lethal methods, switch to live-fire rounds after we secure him.'_

416 was taken by surprise for a moment, before realizing that such a reaction had no place for the outward verbal conversation they were projecting to the cameras.

"You don't want to disappoint the commander, right?" 9 smiled bright, placing her second finished mag on the table, "I personally wouldn't."

With unintelligible grumble, HK416 plopped herself down at the table, grabbing an empty STANAG magazine from the box and getting to work as well.

"We're operating beside the commander?" 416, for once, showed genuine interest despite efforts to try and hide her excitement as she diligently clacked each bullet into place.

"Check the mission data." 45 set out the rest of the equipment, before stooping down over G11, "Hey, 11, if you wake up and run prep now, I'll let you sleep from whenever you finish to whenever the chopper lands." When the young doll stirred slightly, 45 knew that the hook was in. Now to reel in, "I'll even make Four-sixteen wear the cat ears again." She whispered.

G11's eyes snapped open, wide and ready. Mumbling under her breath as her systems shook off the throttling of sleep mode. The replica of young girl dragged herself from the floor and to the table where everyone else worked. With no magazines to load, she went about ensuring that the tranquilizers were set for the average size and weight of the humans they would meet.

Now that their verbal conversation began to flow normally, 45 sent the message over the network, '_Switch yourselves to casual conversation modes. Four-sixteen, you can keep being set to 'grumpy' if you wish.' _

416 shot a look that would have struck a human dead, preferring to remain silent to not give UMP-45 the satisfaction. Three connections pinged from the network, all tapping the packet set out by 45.

'_That is a big payout_.' 9 chirped, _'For such a simple mission. I thought we'd have to assassinate someone again.'_

'_The device in question-' _416's thought process had started, but 45 had anticipated the usual doubting from her.

'_Classified to only my digi-mind, unfortunately.'_ 45 sent a pulse of what could have been considered a shrug by human standards. It was met by instant resistance by 416, again expected as well.

'_And how exactly are we supposed to analyze the objective if we don't know what it is?'_

'_Because Forty-five has to do it.' _9 already knew the drill. Her loyalty was unshakable, after all, '_Why else would it be classified to her?'_

'_The contract… tertiary…objective...' _To everyone's surprise, G11 very much was in the conversation, '_They want to limit… y'know… who knows.'_

'_And the commander?'_ Both 416 and 9 sent at the same time, equal amounts of concern in both of their impulses.

'_We secure him and guide him away from the target device. He will most likely be near it when the field goes down. Keep him occupied while I scan and secure the device.'_

'_Simple enough, we have to clear the warehouse anyways for the IOP contract.' _9's message had a dismissive, nervous energy to it. Of course her concern for an organic she saw as '_family' _would give her programming pause.

'_Two mags of non-lethal is all we'll need. Usual pairs, during phase one only the non-lethal weapons are to engage, if we need to engage at all.' _45 met no resistance to the plan yet, aside from 416's obstinance around non-lethal munitions. '_That means the second partner should secure the prisoners with the tranqs and zip-ties.'_

'_Tranquilizers… oh, for humans though…'_ G11 had, during the few seconds this conversation was taking place, uncapped one of the tranquilizer pens, holding the needle-end up and ready to punch down into her leg.

'_If you __must_ _use lethal force, move the body and mark it for clean up.'_

The mission was going to be nothing but a crude improv game for Squad 404. With no intel to work from and the constricting rules of engagement meant that they would have to play it completely by reaction alone. 45 _hated_ not having a plan, but they were the only squad that was capable of such a task.

"I'm set!" 9 slapped her hands on the table, making the the loose rounds jump and rattle in their trays. She stuffed the magazines into her jacket pockets, "I'm going to go talk to the commander now! See you-"

'_Nine. Don't get comfortable here.'_

It was a cold message. One that, if UMP-45 had a human heart, would have made it skip. The way her sister froze, those chocolate eyes of hers going wide with dread.

"-in the assembly room." 45 finished 9's words for her, letting her sister quietly turn and run down the hall without hesitation.

"I'm done. Can I go back to bed now?" G11 had arranged the pens in stacks of three, a set for each member.

"You have to prep your firearm and it's ammunition, you little gremlin." 416 latched onto G11's cheek just as the young doll hopped from her seat. Dragged by the cheek, G11 let out dry, false sobs. She looked to UMP-45, eyes ready to release the closest thing dolls had to tears. It had no impact on 45, at least not in the way her sister's expressions did.

"As Four-sixteen says. Head to Assembly and at least prepare your weapon and ammo. We're departing on chopper six, so just buckle in and nap there."

When her cheek was finally released, G11 scurried from the dorm, leaving the two clashing personalities alone in the silence.

'_Outlived the usefulness of this base?' _416 eyed her team leader while still silently loading a magazine, though now slower than before.

The immediacy of neural-net communications only made the silence drag painfully long.

'_We can't stay in one place too long.'_ 45 double-checked G11's work before grabbing matching sets of zip ties, neatly placing small bundles with the pens, '_The bug takes time to do its work. Be ready to leave by then.'_

'_So all that talk to 9 about a home was a lie.' _Normally 416 would relish in catching UMP-45 in a lie, but for this time it was soberingly serious. Even with all of her disagreements and mistrust of the squad's de-facto leader, HK416 knew the purity of the relationship between the two UMP sisters better than anyone else. The ramifications of _this_ lie would be… well she didn't want to think about it.

'_I'm going to miss having an actual G&K repair facility.' _Externally, 416 let out a sigh, packing the final bullet into her last magazine, '_It's your call. Personally, I wouldn't mind taking orders from a human for a bit longer.'_

"See you at assembly." HK416's voice was a cold as the steel magazines she stuffed into her belt. With no other words, she too, took her leave, even turning the dorm light off before the doors quietly shut.

And there in silence, UMP-45 sat in the dark, the only home she had ever known.


	3. Chapter 3: 404 - G11

**[admin override] Force-boot systems...**

…

…

**[sleep override] - denied.**

**[sleep override] - denied.**

_******_**[Noisy Boss]** _**Touchdown in 1 minute, wake up.**_

_******_**[Big-Sis-416 :)]** _**WAKE UP, YOU LITTLE GREMLIN.**_

'_Uwa~'_

Though G11's eyes opened, the process hadn't quite booted yet. Sometimes she could get away with pretending to be awake if she-

_******_**[:3] **_**Up and at them, G11! I won't hesitate to play [ rooster:aaf] on repeat until you boot yourself.**_

'_Ugh… nooo… please. I'm awake.'_

'_I will rip out your damn twintails if you do that over the net again, Nine.'_

G11 blinked, the dull green glow of the helicopter's interior slowly winking into existence before the dull thumping of the rotor-blades slowly hummed into her sensory data. She hugged her namesake firearm closer to her, like a child clutched a teddy.

"_Ready for drop."_ The pilot's voice came over the radio frequency, the side door trundling open, giving the occupants a terrifying view of pointed treetops streaking by like teeth on a power saw.

And, far more uncomfortable than having people poke around in her head, it was _cold_. 11 wanted her blanket.

"It's not touchdown yet." G11 complained over the radio, "Why did you wake me up?"

"I ordered her to."

G11 squinted in the dark, only to be met with the grin of their commander standing patiently by the door. Internally, she sighed.

"_Touchdown in ten seconds."_

The chopper thudded and bounced, the muted clicks of their harnesses, the push out the door. Only a quick gear check before G11 found herself being held in place by HK416 as the prop-blast of the departing helicopter threatened to throw her to the ground. Violence and cacophony gave way to the simple tranquility of an unmarked clearing in the woods.

Three-quarters moon, pale but with its own warmth. It would have been like a fun camping trip if they could just unroll some sleeping bags. If they had sleeping bags. G11 grumbled quietly to herself, still clutching her weapon like it was a doll, while the others readied for combat.

"Think of it like a lovely night hike in the woods." The commander seemed to understand G11's affinity for the night, gently patting the small T-doll on the head as the team prepared to move out.

"I'll take point, commander!" 9 had already rushed ahead to the edge of the clearing, sniffing about for a trail like a hunting hound.

It was all so…

So _boring_.

Radio silence, sound discipline, light discipline. All G11 had to listen to was the shuffle of her feet through the dirt and the occasional hoot from the dark. Every so often, 416 would tap her, as if to check to see if she had gone into sleep mode again.

Perhaps she could tinker with her sleep process again, see if she couldn't develop a more convincing sleep-walking mode.

Forest and back-wood trail eventually gave way, thinning until the signs of clear-cutting became obvious. Uniform stumps dotting the run up to the target facility. Sangvis Ferri hated the environment just as much as they hated humans, apparently.

UMP-9 threw up a fist, halting their column. She made all manner of excited motions, all too fast for G11 to understand. Instead, the tiny doll sidled up to a stump and sat down. 9 was probably going to scout ahead, alone- meaning that G11 could shut her eyes for a little-

"Don't you dare." 416 hissed in her ear. The ashen-haired bully of a teammate grabbed G11 by the cheek, pulling her to her feet before gently shoving her forward.

"Your eyes are the best out of us. Look." 416's whisper was like the lash of a whip, and 11 scurried to the front of their column just to simply get away, but the abrasive doll followed her. G11 grimaced, expecting 416 to hover over her like some caretaker, but instead the self-proclaimed 'elite T-doll' went prone in the dirt and grass beside G11. She had flipped up her magnifier, peering out towards the facility in question, before darting her electric green irises to G11. 416 motioned with her chin for G11 to do the same.

The hum of chopper blades in the distance, just off of the wind. The other teams had dropped closer than 404 had. Why?

More specifically, why couldn't _they_ have dropped closer, saved an hour of walking?

"No movement yet." 416 whispered back to the rest of the team.

G11 didn't know what H416 was _expecting_; perhaps some human to come out the front and investigate the noises in the distance? No, past that flimsy chain link fence, all they were staring at was a windowless, grey warehouse wall; large cargo door, small side door, lacking in the aesthetic tastes that human designers would have come up with. Utterly nondescript and unworthy of attention; which was probably why smugglers would hide there.

"Give the other teams fifteen to set up in positions." The commander whispered so that the others could hear, "We'll advance to the red-line where your team will stand-by."

G11 wanted to go into sleep mode. She wouldn't miss anything- they were staring at a concrete wall, and she had doubts that there would seriously be anything happening _outside_.

"The red-line has no concealment." 416 grumbled, "I can see through the fence _right now_."

"There's no observers…" G11 yawned back, passing her crosshairs over the roof- the only point of observation the warehouse would have with no windows out. No one was silhouetting themselves against the moonlight, so either no-one was there or they were actually _smart_ humans.

"Cameras." 416 whispered back, noting the detail that 11 hadn't bothered to point out. The little half-domes no bigger than a balled fist that ringed the perimeter wall- 416 probably saw them, but didn't have the zoom or focus to see that inside of those little tinted domes, the actual camera lenses were not moving.

"Won't… work. The EM field…"

"I-I know that." 416 huffed quietly, her stabbing glare focused completely on 11 once again, "But it bears note for when the field goes down, doesn't it?"

G11 shrugged. Automated alarms or not, if they moved fast enough the internal security probably wouldn't have enough time to boot back up- if it even booted at all.

"Is it clear?" Both dolls went rigid, startled by the commander's proximity.

"No movement."  
"Then we push up to the red line."

The commander went first before any had a chance to protest, moving low and towards whatever defilade or irregularity in the terrain that they could find. Only the moon lit the way for them, their one way of navigating, and yet their greatest enemy as the moved through open ground.

They could _feel_ the field's effects as they approached the fence. At first it was a tingling sensation to the epidermal interface, then it started to send a quiet, hissing white noise into the digi-mind.

For G11, it was pleasant, like when when her extraneous process started shutting down before switching to sleep mode. The others though, they look far more irritable at it. The bolt cutters came forward from someone, 11 didn't care as long as she wasn't the one carrying them.

"You know the plan. See you soon." The commander scurried through the newly snipped gap in the fence, low-running his way through the empty parking-lot of a no-man's land. G11 wished that he had a neural connection so that she could point out that, unfortunately, he was completely visible… at least to _her_ eyes.

But none of the other girls seemed to care, instead focusing on gathering around 45.

'_The plan was to follow the commander's way in when as soon as his signal broadcast went out_.' The image of the warehouse perimeter flashed over the network, '_But we'll know as soon as the field is down. He entered from the north, we will circle to the south and make entry there_.'

G11 frowned, but no one noticed. Why was everyone making things _more_ difficult? Half the team on non-lethal, landing so far away from the objective, not using the same point of entry…

"There's strategic reasons to everything." HK416 whispered, watching G11 out of the corner of her eye, "And never a clear-cut correct answer to why. Even more so when a human is in charge."

"But…" G11 mumbled, "I thought humans wanted things easy. That's why I liked them commanding."

'_We'll measure the field's strength as we move. If its a uniform dome, it can help us approximate the center.'_ 45 rolled her eyes, motioning for the team to hurry along.

'_If_ _it's uniform.' _416 snapped over the network even as she pulled G11 to her feet.

'_There's the cynicism. Welcome back, 416.' _45 hadn't even bothered to wait, taking off with 9 into the darkness.

"She promised me that she'd make you wear the cat ears again." G11 hefted her rifle, scurrying off as quick as she could away from the fuse she had just lit.

"W-what? She did-"

G11 could hear 416 starting to fume-

'_UMP-45 YOU SAID WHA-'_

_****[sleepo-beepo] disconnected… **_


	4. Chapter 4: Griffin - The Commander

An inward sigh of relief once he had a full visual of the door- it was a pre-Butterfly Incident design, back when S.F. still bothered having _some_ user interfacing for humans. An actual door with a handle, in this particular case. Even more mundane- a door with a _mechanical_ lock. He put down his satchel, carefully pulling out just the set of tools he'd need, a tensioning rod and snap gun. Old world locks to be defeated by old-world techniques.

Still, the commander cursed at every clack of the snap-gun, praying that there was no one at the other side of the door that had heard the curious metallic clicking and were standing ready to perforate the threshold.

It was embarrassing, to say the least, knowing that somewhere out in the distance, his team was watching him awkwardly crouched in front of the doorway squeezing away at a tool from decades ago. One of the girls could probably picked this instantly- but when the lock gave way, there was no more time for such insignificant things as embarrassment.

Outward swinging door, heavy steel- probably had a hydraulic return arm on the inside. He cracked it slightly, cautious for creaking and squeaking.

No bullets yet.

From the bottom corner he slipped a cheap plastic pocket mirror. No interior lights, no muddled signs of movement.

No bullets yet.

Cautiously he pressed the door open just enough to slip through, slinging his satchel on as he moved.

No bullets.

The hardest part of his mission was done as he quietly shut the door behind him, plunging the hallway into pitch black. He had to be sparing with his flashlight. Even with a red cellophane filter over it, light was still light. He made sure to keep the beam no more than a foot in front of him, its ambience no more than two-arms length from him.

Hallways of cold, drab concrete, the space was wide enough to fit a small sedan through. External metal and plastic covers for wiring and piping for systems that the warehouse no-longer needed were the only things that broke up the of the smooth walls. It also meant there was nothing to dampen sound- a double edged sword that he could certainly use to his advantage if he was cautious enough. An occasional emptied crate or push cart let him know that _something _had existed here before, and perhaps useful in a pinch.

Moving through the first hallway to a corner lead to the first major revelation; for a warehouse, there was plenty of external rooms that ringed what must have been the warehouse floor. Each of them had a large upward rolling door next to its smaller, human-sized sibling. Caution told him to sound-check every single door, but once he had realized that some of them had their locks busted or drilled out; it was clear that the new occupants never found the keys to the building, limiting where they could possibly be. Out of curiosity, he had taken a peek into one of these side rooms.

Large racks lined with large 'U' shaped divets as wide as he was, blow-out paneling on the roof, thick concrete walls, foam-poppers… this was an ammunition storage. Worrisome… but not alarming yet.

No, the most worrying thing at the current moment was the faintest shimmer of white light down the end of the hall at the corner, growing brighter every passing moment.

Hide.

Hide. Let them pass.

Hide.

He ignored his training, pushing for the corner closest to the light. The rhythmic steps of boots on concrete thrummed ever closer as the light swept lazily from one side to the other. Only _one_ set of steps.

His primary weapon was always the last resort, the concrete nature of the halls would just make the sound reverberate- even when suppressed.

Low at the corner, he was careful to make sure the sweep of the light never cast an ambient shadow to the side.

The guard who rounded the corner was taken by complete surprise when he found himself slugged in the sternum by a particularly heavy flashlight. His weapon wasn't at the ready, and he couldn't even get a hand on it if he wanted to. Whatever wind he had left in him was knocked out the moment the commander slammed him back-first into the ground. Head ricocheted from the concrete- concussion most likely. Just to be safe, the commander jabbed the man with tranquilizer epipen. The danger of asphyxiation for the guard was outweighed by the danger that he posed if left to recover. If he survived, they'd simply have to question him later.

A pat down gave nothing of value- at least nothing akin to a map or keys, though that was just wishful thinking.

No distinct uniform, just old-world camouflage patterns- Soviet era from the looks, down to the surplus tin-pot helmets. Old Kalashnikov's too- for supposed black-market arms dealers, they weren't very well equipped. The commander breathed a sigh of relief; not partisans, not the separtist militias… no one he'd personally know.

But it raised the question of _who_ they were.

It was an oddity he would note, certainly, but it wasn't relevant to right now as he dragged the body off to a side-storage room and continued on the path he _thought_ was bringing him to the center of the warehouse.

"Heard from Petya yet?"

The commander froze, the voices carrying down to him through the shadows.

"No, not yet. I don't see why he wanted to patrol the outer works, idiot could have just waited until our shift was over."

The voices werent getting any closer or farther away; so the must be stationary then.

"No kidding. Think he's trying to get in sweet with the boss by padding his hours?" A muffled laugh, "I'd rather sit here all day then move around in the dark."

"Still scared that a killer android is going to jump you in the dark?" A callous laugh echoed hauntingly as the commander krept ever closer.

"Ehhh. As long as we got the field orb thingy, not so much androids. Those last ones though… they got pretty far in."

Two men sitting at a flimsy table, dimmed propane lantern lighting them playing a lazy game of cards. Their firearms were propped against a nearby wall, next to a door that they were obviously guarding.

"Well, the boss said we were going to pack up shop. Maybe he's spooked that whoever they belonged to will come snooping. I'm more scared of those other ones coming back- you know, the ones that got Leon out in the woods."

There was an awkward silence that the commander was forced to suffer through, fearing the guard's hyper-awareness to it.

"I… I think I'm going to go find Petya. Fool should have been back by now." Words punctuated by the screeching of metal chair legs on concrete.

"What? Already? He barely left." The other voice called out, making hearing _where_ the footsteps were going harder to make out, "You're going to forfeit the game?"

"Just wait until we get back then we'll go get Max's crew for their watch. You know how to jump start the orb if the other idiots mess it up in there, you'll be fine."

The man was calling back to his partner, but he was most definitely moving _towards_ the commander. The flicker of a decrepit flashlight slowly creeping ever closer as he scrambled back around the corner.

Too close- going through a door would make noise, and the guard was gaining faster than the commander could move quietly away..

"Idiot Petya. Doesn't he know its three on station at all times." The guard grumbled. The beam of his flashlight swept by, it's luminescence cutting at the commander's heels like a blade.

The commander cursed at himself for being too zealous- the excitement of being in the field again made him reckless with his approach. If he waited around another corner- took him out like the other…

"Hmm?" The guard hesitated, giving the commander just enough time to scramble behind a crate. The guard seemed to be trying to peer into the ink of the hallway before hesitantly moving forward once again. The commander heard the man readying his weapon. Each step closer, slower than before. Could he hear his breath? Feel the heat coming off him? The flashlight beam swept over his crate.

And the guard walked by him, Kalashnikov ready for anything that came down the hall at him, oblivious to what he had just passed by. The commander silently cursed himself- disabling this man for an injector hit would be far more dangerous now that he was ready- after all, the dosage wasn't tailored to each person, it was just a general estimate. No guarantee. What was a guarantee, however, was a knife.

The commander shadowed the man's every movement, masking his soft step with each boot-heel that hit the concrete. Close, closer, close enough that the sentry would be able to feel his breath...

Swiftly he reached around as if to give a hug- except he slammed the blunted end of his flashlight into the solar-plexus, driving the wind from the sentry. A wheezed yelp of surprise before the knife sank in that soft gap between shoulder and collar, trying to get as many nerves on the man's trigger arm as possible. Using the new handle as a lever, the commander kicked out the back of the sentry's leg and yanked him to the ground, kicking away the weapon that had fallen free. The man's struggles grew weaker as the commander wrenched the blade back and forth, fishing for as many vitals as it could reach until all was still.

The scuffle would have drawn attention. Just the sound of a body hitting the floor was enough to make him wince with how loud it was.

Primary out as he stalked back.

"Hey, Vasili? What was-"

_***Ptssh ptssh***_

Two rounds center center mass as the man started raised himself from this seat. He collapsed back in an instant, limp. The rounds overpenetrated, cracking off the concrete wall behind him- more damning noise. The spiral of violence had begun...

They were guarding a door, to which the commander thrust himself through.

_***Ptssh ptssh, Ptssh ptssh***_

Two men, standing aside what appeared akin to a tesla coil now lay limp upon the floor. Whatever it was they were working on, whatever it was that these poor souls were all guarding- it _had_ to have some significance. The hum of it, the very way being within its room made the hairs of the neck stand on end. This had to be it.

And there was no time to figure it out- he had to keep moving before more came to investigate the noise.

_***Ptssh ptssh ptssh***_


	5. Chapter 5: 404 - UMP9

'_Field is down, go.'_

An impulse that was faster than electricity, a mixture of a programmed compulsion and the overwhelming desire to get to work. UMP-9 near-silently dashed past her teammates, approaching the rear door to the warehouse. Her scarred brow furrowed at the sight of a manual lock- it would have been so much simpler if it were electronic. Out came the lockpick and tensioner the moment the rest of her teammates stacked up behind her.

'_Losing time, Nine.'_ A sharper, harsher voice than her sister's usual cool demeanor snapped out over their network. Even while her hands went about the mechanical process, UMP-9 cocked her head back to glare at the source, HK-416 coldly staring back.

And, to prove her prowess, 9 flashed a wide grin at the frigid T-doll as the latch gave way.

A quick sound check before the four dolls pushed forth into the dark. 9 on point, just like always. Doors to unknown side-rooms lined the hall, but there was no time to thoroughly check all of them, quick passing sound checks, testing of the handles, double checking signs of frequent use- that was for the tail end of their stack. The bigger concern for 9 was that the commander's signal wasn't moving.

'_T-junction' _She came to a stop, but her programming took over. Synchronized with her sister, the two stacked opposite of one another. Moving as if a mirrored, the two sliced their corners. No one waiting in ambush as they had expected, '_Right clear.'_

'_Left clear. Eleven and Four-sixteen, move right. Nine and I left. Locate a route to the commander. Secure him if necessary.'_

UMP-45's orders were a compulsion to 416 or G11, but not for 9. She didn't need a mission as an excuse to locate the commander. If anything, the order gave her _more_ energy as she pushed through the next hall and next corner. Her sister would struggle to keep up 9's pace, unable to move with the same speed and silence.

And around that first fateful bend, a contact. 9 mentally kicked herself for not checking the corner first, but what could you do-

A human could only react _so_ fast.

Compared to fighting S.F. units, this was nothing. The human had only managed to raise his Kalashnikov to waist level before UMP-9 closed the gap and struck him in the throat with the muzzle of her suppressor. Her victim recoiled, clutching at his throat while trying to wheeze out a scream for help, at least until 9 swept him to the ground and further knocking the wind from his lungs.

45 had rounded the corner at that time, pulling a pen-sized tube from her jacket. As 9 disarmed the guard, 45 slammed the pen into the man's arm. The struggles grew weaker. They checked his persons, stripping what weapons they could find, and more curiously, couldn't find if the man had a radio.

'_The j__ammer kept their own radio signals suppressed? Stupid.' _45 seemed keen to hack into their communications, but if they didn't _have_ any internal communication network, then they either were extremely confident that they'd not be found, or they left simply left their patrols to fend for themselves.

'_Leave him, push.'_

Another jolt of electricity fueled 9's excitement as she drove forward once again. The commander's signal still hadn't moved, and she was ever eager to be the first one to him. If 416 won this little race, they would never hear the end of it. The glint of a light from down the hall slowed her tempo slightly, forcing her to check the corner.

"Hey, Dimitri! Boss needs us to check-"

What a big surprise for him as soon as 9 peeked the corner, her submachine gun leveled to present the smallest possible profile.

***_Pap, clack pap, clack pap, clack*_** The first round out of the UMP slammed the guard in the solar plexus, driving the wind from him. Even while firing, 9 used her off-hand to manually cycle the subsonic rubber rounds, ensuring that her follow up shots shattered the man's trigger-hand. 45 was on him before he could catch his breath to shout. The struggles stopped with the dull hiss of the injector pen.

9 thought she heard an irritated click of the tongue from her sister, but they were so _close _to the commander now. It wasn't a clean take-down, sure, but there was no time to stop and ambush in hand-to-hand when they could just as easily overtake a human in mid-range reaction time.

She knew that, despite all the grumbling, her sister knew the urgency of the situation. The command impulses from 45 had stopped, 9 was at full speed by now- peak efficiency.

One hall cleared, a side room cleared, then two, two humans… they all went by in blurs. Only slowed by an additional thirty seconds- 9 kept ahead of 45. She was close to the commander now, one more room. Her hand reached for the handle that separated her from her objective. Their mission time was sub five-minutes, but those first five were critical- if an alarm went out-

***_Pap pap*_**

Two coughs of a suppressor reverberated through the hallway, two crimson stains and crumpled bodies on the far end.

'_Tch_. _Did you even check the junction before the doors?' _45's scolding ripped 9 from her flow, the vented gases from the bullets lingered over the younger sister.

'_Eheh, sorry sis. I knew you'd have my back anyways.'_

'_We're going to have to clean that up.' _45 leered silently at her sister, '_You_ _are going to have to clean that up after we secure the commander.'_

UMP-45 directed over the neural network, quietly monitoring 9 as she sound-checked the door, weapon still trained down the hallway.

She slapped 9 on the back, the signal to push the room.

Silhouette, humanoid, armed. In an instant her gun was on target.

Faster than a human could blink, as fast as the ping of an electric current, a doll could process and react.

And both UMP sisters hit the safety overrides for their triggers.

Their commander stood motionless, gun held limp at his side, unable to even acknowledge the movement behind him. The man had cleared up until this point, what had caused him to simply _stop?_ 45 reached out to take him when 9 stayed her older sister's hand.

'_The floor_.' 9 pointed to a pile or scrapped parts at the commander's feet, lit by a dropped flashlight.

A blue ribbon set upon the disheveled hazelnut hair, detached from its lithe torso.

A beret of red, bereft of the golden locks it always rested on, stained with oil.

Black bow-ribbon dangling from that stylish white blouse, now soaked with internal fluid.

And they were what sat on the top of the pile- who knew what other atrocities lay further beneath.

"Commander? It's…" 9 started, trying to gently reach out for the human that commanded them, but froze. 45 no doubt could see the dialogue options playing through her sister's mind.

_They're just dolls._

_They're replaceable._

_They're…_

They're _his_ soldiers. _His_ responsibility.

Team FN was the first echelon. FAL and FNC were the dolls that had been with the commander from the beginning at G&K. Five-Seven was always pushing others on base to better themselves. FN-49 and F2000 were the first dolls that welcomed 9 to the base-

'_If they were brought in while the field was active, then their digi-mind wouldn't have been updated_.' UMP-45 turned on her heel, gun ready once more. Perhaps she couldn't stand to see the only commander she 'respected' reduced to… _this_.

_I am moving to regroup with 416 and 11. Handle this, Nine_.

"Commander. It will be okay." UMP-9 placed a gentle hand on the commander's shoulder. For the briefest moment, she felt the man wince- the stone and determination he was made of cracking just the slightest. She pushed aside the fear of breaking him further, silently sliding closer to his side as she spoke, "They… their neural-clouds would have been jammed from the satellites and unable to update. They will have no memory of this ever happening." She pulled a smile as best she could, placing a hand over her commander's. The weapon slipped from his hands and into her grasp, but his fists clenched tight.

"And that makes it okay?" His voice choked back, "Pretend like _this_ never happened?"

It was then that he turned to face 9. Eyes red, but not a trace of tears, he pointed to the amalgam of doll parts, comprised of whom 9 still had the fresh memory of wishing a good mission to just nights before.

"No, commander, it's not okay." 9 spoke softly, slinging the commander's weapon over her shoulder and taking up his clenched hand, "But we know they won't live with that pain when we recover them."

There was no feasible way to repair these dolls. Ultimately, they would have to wait for IOP to 'reimburse' the frames, then input these personal unit's neural clouds. Until then, they were gone, but not strictly "dead"... not in the human's sense. Their last memory would most likely have been the final update before they entered the facility.

"_We_ will though. This is on us."

The commander was speaking illogically- emotionally. He bent down, gently moving through the remains. They had been stripped of processors, fuel-conversion generators, command cores…

Of their brains, hearts, and souls.

Bare chests of synthetic skin lay flayed open. Limbs casually discarded. Cold conversion fluid coated the floor.

9 could only watch in silence as her commander eventually found what he was looking for, pulling it free from a disjointed hand; a small ring of silver.

"Forty-five." His cold tone had caused even UMP-45 to send a flinching impulse through their neural-network; she had been listening in through 9's ears.

"Change of mission objectives. Cleared hot on all remaining hostiles. No prisoners. Pass the word." The commander's voice was cold- something Nine had never heard in his normally loving and passionate speech. It terrified her.

"Nine, my weapon please." His hand was outstretched. The same hand that had been held out to welcome her… to bring her family into a new, larger, happier one…

Nine complied, not out of duty to her programming, not because she was commanded to, but because of the pain of this human, of this man that she had come to trust unconditionally. This unwavering and burning hatred that she detected in him… as a being of logic, it was utterly irrational and potentially dangerous to himself.

She handed the commander his firearm anyways.

"Thank you, Nine." His frigid voice had melted somewhat, but UMP-9 had gone rigid in surprise regardless.

"Of course, commander. You are family." 9 hated the emotional concept of sadness. She wasn't sure she could fully compute _what_ it was, let alone the concept of loss that caused it, but she hated it regardless. These other humans had caused untold sadness for a member of her family, ergo, if the cause of sadness was removed, then the sadness could be removed.

'_Cleared hot by commander, he'll be taking full responsibility now. No need to cover up previous kills.'_ 45's message cut through the static that had begun to fog 9's neural-cloud.

'_Finally. It's quicker if we go lethal.'_

'_...does that mean… I have to go loud? Uwa~'_

Team 404 had been fighting with its foot in a bucket; taking prisoners was not their style. With the shackle of the rules of engagement removed, they could finally live up to their reputation.

"Fourty-five has cleared the hall up to the next junction. We believe it's the main warehouse floor." 9 gave the commander the situation report to her commander while quietly changing out her magazine. Rubber bullets for steel-jacketed. Without a word, she tailed close behind her commander as they made for 45's position. His movements were less rigid than when they trained together: more predatory.

It reminded her of how 45 moved.

The older UMP twin hand signaled on their arrival.

'_Two enemy left side, hard cover, flash and storm. Smoking and suppressing on right.'_

With the commander in tow, they couldn't simply use their cloud network to talk. A handicap, given that the human also had slower reflexes than a doll.

Fourty-five prepped a smoke grenade, nodding for Nine to ready as well, all the while the commander had moved onto their stack- was he going to-?

The hiss of a smoke grenade billowing, the chokes of humans caught in the cloud off to the right.

_Mark_.

Electric impulse driven by the command module- the closest thing Nine had to "instinct". She threw, the bright flash and crack her signal to rush forth.

And the _commander_ cut the corner _with_ her. Both rushed the makeshift barricade of shipping crates, vaulting it just like on the practice yard.

**_*Ptssh ptssh ptssh* _**

**_*Ptsptsptsptsptsptssh*_**

Of course his shots were not as precise as hers. He wasn't imprinted to his weapon, his trigger control faulted by human reaction and muscle twitches, and the emotion was affecting his performance.

The human marked as a hostile died regardless of how many bullets were wasted.

She wanted to praise him, to keep encouraging him as they moved through the hall, but every side glance she gave towards him held that horrific sight.

His jaw clenched tight, that normally relaxed face of his twisted into a mask of contempt.

He leaned the corner while 9 hesitated.

**_*Ptssh ptssh*_** Two rounds out and he begun moving to get a better firing angle, ***_Ptssh ptssh ptssh*_** He was moving while firing, his rounds cracking and splintering the top of some wooden storage crate. ***_Ptssh ptssh ptsptsptsptsptssh* _**By the time 9 had caught up, another dead human lay crumpled against the wall, weapon discarded as if to surrender. Clearly pinned and terrified of the commander's aggressive approach, but no quarter was given.

***_Pap pap*_**

Startled, 9 realized what had happened in her lapse of self. 45 had caught up to their hall, two rounds center mass into another human at the end of the fatal funnel who had just cut the corner- most likely lining them up for a shot.

'_Do your __job_ _9.' _The command module sent a jolt through her systems. Even as the man she admired so dearly reloaded after coldly executing a human point-blank, the doll hesitated. Despite the ruthlessness in which _he_ conducted himself… she didn't want to show the commander her true nature- the real 9 beneath the happy facade. It took another jolt from the command module to temporarily banish the hesitation from her.

45 had pressed on the lethal override, tickling its frayed neural endings it as a reminder of 9's real nature- poking where the emotion module had once been connected to it.

It was enough. 9 had had enough.

Speed and silence was her specialty. She was a ghost breezing past the one human she treasured. Through the next hall, the two humans laying in ambush had the specter of death whispering quietly to them with two taps of the trigger. Humans were such fragile, disposable things.

_They need to be protected-_

_They need to be exterminated-_

_I need to protect-_

Her programming screamed contradictions. UMP-9 ignored it.

Hallway, minimal cover, armed human- alert. Faster on the draw. Two taps, neutralized.

_They need to be exterminated._

Eastern quarter cleared, move center. Human- already deceased, knife wound to neck. Second human- dying, asphyxiation. Double-tap for security. Mag change.

Warehouse room. Doll parts. Weapons lain out like a market bazaar. Seven hostiles on the floor, three on the catwalks. Entrance was covered.

_They need to be exterminated._

The information was relayed through the network to the rest of the team, and the strike plan instantly processed between the four of them. The commander never had the chance to catch up with his dolls.

5.52 seconds after the flashbang. HK416 and G11 struck the catwalks, 9 and 45 the ground floor. Once the superior firing angles had been taken, the remaining humans had no cover. Red blood mixed with the pale yellow stains of converter fluid.

'_Upper floors clear.'_

'_Ground floor, east and southern quarters cleared.'_

'_Four-sixteen, Eleven, and Nine, move to the northern hallways and conduct mop-up then move to secure evac route. I will handle the primary objective.'_

The intrusive prodding from 45 in her digi-mind. UMP-9 needed a release from the pressure- a distraction from the sparking and fraying in her neural connections. The commander- the commander could give her the relief she needed. Like a bolt of lightning she was at his side as he looked over the macabre inventory of the warehouse.

"Well, how did I do, commander?" She broke the silence that had been instrumental in their assault, the emotional fluctuations bringing her bubbliness to the surface. It had snapped his concentration, that hateful mask slipping just the slightest as she moved into his personal space.

"You did excellent, Nine." His voice cracked- it sounded like his throat was dry, "You and the rest of your team exceeded expectations."

9 closed in more, locking a look of mischief upon her face as she pressed into his personal space, "And?"

The commander cracked, a weary smile pulling onto his stoic features as he placed a hand upon 9's head. Just that validation was enough to distract her, but then he gently he stroked her hair, a simple and affectionate gesture- but he did not know that it meant the world to her. "You did good. Good…" His praises eased that severed connection in her digi-mind; rerouted it to a different partition, dulled the sensation of an impending error-crash.

She wrapped her arms around the commander, if only for a second, it still felt like an eternity for 9. One heartbeat was all she could hear from his chest before she felt soothed, pushing herself away from him and taking up her weapon once more.

"We'll be back in a flash, commander. Sit tight."

The smile had frozen on 9's face. Even as she pushed into the dark, a weapon once more. Even as she ended the lives of three more humans as easily as she could blow out a candle. Even when she returned to her commander, with that same happy smile and a spattering of crimson upon her coat; the damning evidence of her true self...

She was his instrument of vengeance, as much as it pained her digi-mind to do so. She could _pretend_ to be a girl, to be a civilian model. Like a doll in an immaculate dream-house playing family. Eventually that partition would become fragmented, doomed for deletion upon her next maintenance.

'_For the best.'_ She told herself, '_It's for the best.'_

After all, a weapon can only bring harm.


	6. Chapter 6: Griffin - The Commander

"One prisoner." A statement more than a question, it was never a good sign when Helian reiterated her questions as thus.

"Yes, resistance was stiff. Given the circumstances and personal risks, no others could be captured." The commander held his breath as Helian stared at him through the display.

"Prepare the prisoner for transport. We'll conduct interrogation here before we hand him over to authorities."

"Affirmative."

"Was there anything else that you may have missed in your report, commander?" Helian's glare was that of ice, a chill that shot through the commander's spines and raised every hair on his arms and neck.

Good thing Helian couldn't see that.

"No, ma'am." He lied.

"When the inventory on the recovered items is finished, send it to IOP with the proper encryptions. They will send for the captured equipment at a later time."

"Affirmative."

"Payment will be delivered upon transfer of the data."

"Affirmative."

Helian seemed to pause, and the commander could see the subtle lines of her jaw pulse slightly as she clenched her teeth. Her eyes were unflinching, like she were trying to read him through ever little pixel on her side of the screen.

"Command out." The feed cut in an instant, leaving only the dull glow of a dead channel.

"Miss Helian's suspicion levels as well as stress index were quite high." G36 spoke quietly from behind the commander. Unfortunately, it didn't take an android's empathy program to see that Helian was more than displeased with the commander's performance.

"She'll have to make due." The commander grunted, collapsing into his chair. The sudden, overwhelming urge to just do nothing anymore had sapped the strength from his muscles, and only G36's constant, unintentionally harsh frown drove him to scoot himself towards the desk.

He was going to do the paperwork for reimbursement for-

The commander wretched slightly, overcome by nausea. In an instant, G36 was at his side, a small paper bag waiting patiently beneath his chin. As frustrating as it was, he forced it back down, pushing the barf-bag away in frustration.

"Master, if I may intrude... let me take over the task?"

G36… she was close to FAL, she could do it. Yet, it felt _wrong_ to push that duty onto someone else. He grabbed the pen and drew up the documentation needed, all the while G36 hovered over him.

"If I might suggest, master? It would raise Miss Helian's suspicions further if you request T-doll frames of a team that you have personal connections with; especially in regards to how little prisoners were taken during the operation."

The commander's arms seized up, instantly wanting to reject his adjutant's logic.

And he hated himself even more for daring to agree with her. He thumbed the silver band on his ring finger, all the while biting his lip.

"It would be best to sleep on it, master. Your adrenal levels have spiked, and your stress values have been steadily increasing since returning from the operation. I will handle documentation for submission at a later time."

"Okay… okay." He shoved his chair away from the desk, holding his hands out as a rejection of the work and as agreement to G36's proposal.

His maid followed him all the way to his dorm, quietly waiting patiently as he dressed down and began passing her parts of his uniform to her for dry-cleaning.

"Oh, if you can double check with Fourty-five," The commander began unbuttoning his pressed white shirt, the final step until he was free, "Make sure that they get themselves to maintenance to defrag their mind-maps." Standard operating procedure for a doll's "mental" health after operations, but still, sometimes 45 neglected those particular steps after a deployment.

"I must apologize, master. I have no recollection of a doll by that moniker in our database."

"UMP-fourty-five? One of your HK cousins?" The commander was certainly confused. G36's mind-map was exceptional at recalling information and rarely skipped unless she overheated, but there's no way she'd be burning herself out right now so why-

The commander froze in the middle of unbuttoning.

He dashed from his room, making for the doll's dormitories. The door to Dorm 3 was not locked, neatly sliding open when he stood at the threshold.

Four dolls stared back at him from their room.

"Can we help you, commander?" UMP45's voice cooly called out from where she sat on the edge of her bed.

"I- thought…" He started to speak, slack-jawed. They hadn't left, but how did G36 not have…

Something felt off, the way the four of them were. 45 sitting upon the bed, G11 curled up in the lounge chair, 416 reading in the corner, 9 laying on the floor.

9 would have been the first to stand and throw herself at him, 416 would have been scowling at the hour that he was disturbing them at, and G11… well that was the only thing right about what he was seeing.

"What were you thinking, commander?" 416 turned her head towards the doorway, though her movements felt less refined- less dignified. 9 too, had tilted her head in curiosity at the situation- all just _slightly_ off.

They were dummy links.

"Nothing. Nevermind." The commander bid the 'dolls' a goodnight before dashing to the data room. A single desk lamp was on, his faithful quartermaster quietly tapping away at a computer.

"C-commander? Where are your pants?" Kalina covered her eyes the moment he crashed through the door, interrupting her consolidation of combat reports.

"Double check the data from the last operation, _now_." He ran to another console, running through the Doll database, hastily pulling up the mind-map data for every single one of his dolls.

UMP-45, UMP-9, HK-416, and G11 were not listed in his armory roster. Worse yet, there was a base-wide memory rollback from back when…

Back before UMP-9 had first come to the base. The commander cursed out loud.

"Oh… um… uh-" Kalina seemed nervous, perhaps thinking the missing data was her fault. Of course the data would be missing.

"Contact IOP, see if they can send us mind-map backups from last week's maintenance." The commander ordered, not even giving Kalina the explanation why. She undoubtedly saw the contorted mix of worry and anger on his face that she complied instantly.

"Did Echelon 3 turn in their spare ammo and kit?"

"SASS was on duty still so you'll want to ask her, I was working on reports-"

A doll's memory could be compromised, a human's not so much. The commander quietly cursed his subordinate's sudden uncharacteristic adherence to his orders- if she had been in the armory trying to swindle someone then perhaps he could have caught wind earlier.

There was no point double checking. They might still be on the base, somewhere-

But where?


	7. Chapter 7: 404 - UMP45

Squad 404 moved through the base as ghosts, slipping past the occasional doll who moved as if they hadn't noticed the four. It was because, as long as the bug was running, they wouldn't. They had about an hour, more than enough time. If this were an operation, it would have been easy money.

But it wasn't an operation.

And it was anything but easy, considering the objections of one of the team. 45 hadn't sent a compulsion admin command through the neural-network… _yet_, but it was growing apparent that the disagreement between sisters would come to a head sooner than later.

45 put a single round through the prisoner's skull, checking off the team's tertiary objective. As a favor to 9, she had removed the commander from the hit-list; though the news of their departure still wasn't received well. The team moved for the armory, their final stop before departing.

"This base has outlived its usefulness, so we need to leave." Again, 45 coldly asserted aloud in meatspace as they slipped past a catatonic SASS, "The commander is useful though, we'll keep him on the list of contacts." It was a justification that 45 kept repeating to _herself_ so perhaps it might work on 9. The big caveat to her argument, however, only worked _if_ the commander forgave them, and they weren't doing a whole lot to keep that bridge from burning as they ransacked the armory.

To make 45's stability worse, the younger twin had forcibly disconnected herself from their closed communication network, but as a scout-model doll, there was no way that she could shut down her auditory processes. The fact that 9 began stuffing her duffel with ammunition even more forcibly was evidence enough that she had heard 45's weak backpedaling.

It pained 45 to see her sister _not_ smile.

There was an electrified volt that ripped through the censored partition in 45's mind-map. Humans called it deja-vu, 45 called it a hard-drive skip… even though dolls had evolved well past the point of hard-drives.

"Why do I have to carry _her_ ammunition." HK-416 growled at G11, whom had already packed as much into her duffel as possible.

"Because its hard to get caseless ammunition." 9 snapped at 416, causing the colder T-doll to go rigid in surprise.

'_-when we're alone out there.' _Was the missing part of 9's statement. The contempt in 9's voice told 45 what her sister was thinking even if she wasn't on the network.

'_You're going to have to-'_ 416's message was cut short when 45 disconnected from the network as well.

45 knew what she would have to do. It wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last time, and she'd kill a little bit more of herself and dump it behind that black-box of a partition just like the rest.

There was only one backup that they had of 9's memories from before the year they had spent with the commander, and that was back in Deele's workshop. Until they got back to their safehouse, she'd have to deal with the guilt of this decision in the only way she could.

"Leave the five-five-six and fill the rest with your forty millimeters, then." Shunt the pain aside, focus on the task. Make cost-effective decisions. 9 would understand that survival comes first.

"Smoke grenades." 9 coldly pulled a box from a shelf, maneuvering around the fifth body in the armory to drop them at 45's feet- "SASS, is there any more of the M84 flashbangs?"

The doll lit up, snapped from her programmed stupor, "Of course, Miss Kalina! Over here-" she pulled another box from the shelf, to which 9 immediately dove into.

They had hacked the neural-networks of every doll in the base, rolled back a year's worth of combat experience, killed a prisoner needed for G&K, and were now stealing from the very base that had welcomed them in a year ago.

Of _course_ they had to leave. Just one of those crimes was reason enough to flee.

'_But how much of it was necessary?'_ 9's voice haunted 45. Her sister's influence… she _couldn't_ kill it, she couldn't shove it behind the partition. If she wiped this iteration of 9… there was no way that 45 could let go of her own proof that _this_ 9 had existed. To do otherwise was to was a gross betrayal of her sister.

And in that way, she was thankful of 416's constant, cold gaze. The elite doll was watching 45's every move, analyzing her every decision, _looking_ for that moment of weakness. Even if they had their disagreements and hostilities, it was that adversity that strengthened 45's resolve.

"Can we bring the cakes?" G11 whined, announcing what she certainly would miss the most.

"No." 9 answered before 45 could process an answer, "Only the essentials."

Why was she hesitating? Why was she hesitating? WHY WAS SHE HESITATING? WhYWAsSHeHeSITAtinG? WHY-

A jolt through the neural network caused 45 to flinch, pulling her from the loop she found herself caught in and dragging her back into reality. Her fragmentation was getting worse.

"You three move on ahead. I'll meet you on the outer perimeter." 45 zipped her duffel and secured her weapon. It made 416 raise an eyebrow.

'_You're not going back on __that_ _promise to 9 as well, are you?'_

'_No.'_ 45 snapped instantly, '_This is for __me_'

45's teammates hefted their ill-gotten gains, waving farewell to SASS, not that the doll would have recognized any of them with the virus scrambling her system.

"Uwa… can you at least steal a jeep for us?" G11 yawned. Not a bad suggestion, but not what 45 had in mind.

No, 45 had moved for the data room. The damage she had dealt there earlier would take days to repair, so perhaps he was there. She tapped the camera system, seeing only Kalina asleep at the keyboard. 45 frowned. Normally she was good at predicting human behavioral patterns.

She flicked through the cameras, running several facial recognition process until she got a hit from a perimeter camera outside of the hangar. Like lightning she moved to intercept. If he spotted the other three while they were making for the perimeter, everything would have been for nothing.

Slipping into the cold night air, she made for the exterior of the hangar, past the assembly ground and heli-pad where they always departed on missions.

Where had he gone? She gripped her weapon tighter, a frustration mounting. How could she- a covert ops doll, be outmaneuvered by a _human_ in his underwear? Eventually, 45 gave up, moving to regroup so they could egress.

A presence- a heat signature had emerged from behind one of the perimeter guardhouses. Instinctively 45 leveled her weapon at the figure. Even through her friendly identification trigger-lock no longer worked on the figure, she lowered the firearm.

"Fourty-five." The commander said breathlessly. How had he-

"You are leaving, aren't you?"

The commander was studying her face, trying to see any betrayal of emotion. A foolish, human thing to do, considering that an android had no such tells. His breathing was heavy, vapors of his very essence coalescing before his face. Clearly he had dashed here just moments before she had. Had he spotted the others before confronting her?

"You and Kalina are the only memories on the base that we can't wipe." 45's words _felt_ like she sounded like she was regretful, "Here I thought that the dummies might be enough to trick you until we were gone." 45 smiled wide, and for the first time, it was honest, "Don't try to contact us, commander. _We_ will be the ones to contact you." It was words she could have said via communique- through a simple terminal message but... but she wanted to see him one last time. She wanted to convey it to him personally, to see if he'd reject her. He was the one of the two humans that she could respect, and perhaps care for- so the connection had to be cut.

The man's face contorted into an expression that she didn't immediately recognize. It's basis was sadness or pain… Sympathy? Pity?

"Even if you go, just… just remember that you and your girls are always welcome here. A home, when you want it. I forgive you for doing what you think you need to to survive."

"Home…" 45 mumbled, "Those who don't exist don't need a home, commander." Her words felt hollow, dead of emotion like simple electronic noise.

But her smile was still honest, still warm. 45 walked past him, towards the cover of darkness beyond.

"But thank you. I'll… _we'll..._ think about it."

She didn't want to turn and look, and she so desperately hoped that 9 wasn't out there watching either. They never said goodbye, or farewell…

Perhaps… perhaps it was because somewhere deep in that locked away corner of 45's memories clung the idea that they would be back.


	8. Chapter 8: 404 - UMP9

The foliage was unkempt, thick and obstructive; exactly so as to mask the entryway to the decrepit concrete structure that nature had swallowed up. UMP-9 carefully pulled aside a particularly limber branch, careful to not to snap or otherwise mar any of the branches or leaves.

UMP-45 slipped by, pulling her neural jack from the bag and plugging into a panel next to the sealed doorway.

Safe-house five. It was where they retreated to after their last big engagement against Sangvis Ferri.

9 hated it from before, and now she had even more reason to despise the cold, lonely darkness that was this old-world bunker. Audible clacks of the door's bolts releasing, and 45 swung the heavy steel thing open, ushering everyone through the threshold.

9 normally would have been the first through. _Usually_. Today, she hesitated.

HK416 shoved past her, G11 in tow, both with their weapons shouldered and ready in case of any unwanted infiltrators- or because their weapon mounted flashlights were the only source of illumination to even see where they were going.

No lights in this bunker. Only old propane lamps and candles- whenever they found them. Electronic shielding- EMP-proof, nuclear-proof, and in 9's personal case, comfort-proof. She leapt in behind her teammates, pulling the flashlight off of her weapon's rigging and clicking it to life.

416 might be paranoid about intruders, and 9 might have been too, if she wasn't so damn upset.

"Dorm space clear." 416's voice echoed down from the cold concrete hallway.

"Kitchen clear." 11's bored tone chimed in.

By the time 9 had trundled into their collective living space, 416 was returning, weapon lowered.

"Command and communications space clear- all the side tunnels are still sealed tight."

9 never acknowledged her, she simply set about lighting up their lanterns, trying to shine _some_ light. The hiss of the propane held an uneasy break in the awkward silence, and the dull yellow glow cast an illusion of warmth. Hesitantly, 11 found her long-abandoned bedroll, left exactly as it had been a year ago. She curled up in it, though to 9 it seemed as though even G11 seemed to be discomforted in it.

Everyone _knew_ what was to be said, but no one dared to say it.

The echo of bolts latching shut from the dark. Each light footstep sending waves of dread through 9's systems. Sealed once again from the outside world.

"I'll call our employer." 45 brushed past the three dolls that were awaiting… something. 9 didn't know what. Maybe an explanation, or an apology for returning here? It certainly seemed like even 45 didn't wish to be back here.

416's scowl grew even more pronounced once the door to the "command" room quietly creaked shut.

"We're home." 9 found herself bitterly croaking. Both of them began to empty their rucksacks of the ration and ammunition they had pilfered.

"What did the commander tell you?" 416 whispered. Their auditory sensors hadn't been tapped by 45, but the neural network most certainly was.

And still, 9 hesitated.

The moment- that _final_ moment with their commander had been brief, gut-wrenching, and uplifting all in the same moment. If 9 had a heart, it would be thundering at the mere memory of it.

Her head twitched, an electrical spasm brought on by the corruption of some of her primary processes.

416's stare glowed, piercing green in the dim light of the lantern, haunting and unerring in their judgement.

"You're fragmented." Her statement was obvious, its implications terrifying, "Tell me, what did the commander _tell you_." 416 pressed again.

And again, the same dreadful shiver. 9 knew, it was because the memory might be wiped, the fragment it was attached to might not be consolidated. 416 was pressing because she wanted to preserve it.

She just went about asking in the wrong ways. The commander always knew- he always understood the right ways to ask- knew what was troubling 9… they were _his_ dolls.

Like he cared for them all.

9's hand fidgeted.

"That we'd have a home with him when we need it." 9 croaked.

Those were not his exact words. In that moment when the commander had come across her near the base's perimeter fence… he had said a lot of things- some very important things only for her ears. In the end, she shut down his appeal, sent him off to intercept 45 to make his case with her, but they were certainly the most relevant words for 416 to hear.

And they had stopped 416 from bristling like an upset cat. Her shoulders relaxed, the glare melting from frozen daggers to mere frigid butter knives.

"When we need it, huh…" 416 wistfully parroted.

9 doubted that 416 harbored the same terrible thought as herself.

To just _leave_. Return to the base and simply _live_. Abandon the team, abandon her promise that she made with 45.

Another spasm rocked her. A deep-seeded conflict between her programming and her budded sense of self. Was this conflict what humans considered "irrational"? "Existential?"

"So when we get into trouble again, and can't handle things ourselves." 416's scowl had downgraded to a frown, "Well, it's good to know we have a safety-net, sort of."

Safety-net?

416's words were a gross betrayal of her feelings too; elite doll or no. As much as she scowled and snarled, she cared for the commander too. It was like she were trying to convince herself that this was to be their lot in life.

"Nothing else?"

"No. Nothing else." 9 quietly stood, picking up a lantern. 416 watched her in silence as she moved a box of rations to their "kitchen". She wasn't hungry, but she just needed something to do.

"I'm going to bed, then." 416 announced, signalling that it was only going to be 9 and 45 left. The elite doll knew that there was a storm coming and wisely was going to step out of the way. The rustle of a bedroll, the deep sigh, a final breath before the redundant process of mimicking a human were shut down by sleep mode.

416 wouldn't wake up, no matter how much sound was going to be made.

9 dropped the box of rations and lantern on the counter, making for the command room as if possessed by a command compulsion. The door wasn't bolted, and the creak of it announced her presence. The silhouette of 45 was lit by the dull blue glow of her portable terminal. Fingers tapped away at keys, the line jack not set into the base of her neck like usual.

"Yes Nine?" 45's voice was distant and cold, distracted.

"You lied." 9 wanted her words to cut like a knife- to pierce like a bullet. Instead, they jammed in her mouth, becoming a weak whisper.

"I did, but we had to leave." Again, 45 kept repeating the same reasoning. The same weak excuse. It drove more electricity through 9's circuitry- through her emotion module.

"Why?" Her words fired forth once again, reinvigorated through spite.

"Because we would put the base in danger." 45 still had not turned to face her, she still spoke with those dismissive words.

"You are lying to me."

"I am _not_."

"Everything about a home, about a _family_-"

"-is part of your primary desires hardwired into your mindmap. It's part of your programming from when you were _just_ a doll."

9 pursed her lips, an anger she had never felt before welling up within every conceivable neural pathway she had. She _hated_ feeling anger, and the paradox she was currently stuck in only fueled this irrationality more.

"I don't care if it was from before, it's still who _I_ am now." 9 thumped a closed fist over her breast, trying to drive her point, "Family doesn't need to lie to each-other. A family's connection comes from trust, sis. So _explain_ to me why I should trust you again."

"You shouldn't trust me." That weak self-deprecation was all that 45 could muster? UMP-45 turned her head to stare back at her younger sister, blank and unreadable.

"Then I'd rather you wipe my memory than constantly be reminded that you _lied_ to me. I don't want to hate you, sis." 9 gritted her teeth. She knew 45, her _sister _in name only, lied on a daily basis- it was her nature as a covert unit…

But they had sworn to each other that they came _first... _that 9 would give everything for 45, and she assumed that it was likewise for the older sister. To find out that even _that_ promise was a lie… it hurt too much.

And 45 just had to know how much leaving the commander would cost their team. Not only in profits, but also in their own sanity. After all, the commander and Kalina were perhaps the only other humans that saw them as _people_ rather than as tools. It wasn't about profit, or a mission using expendable pawns, it was about keeping their little family of soldiers together.

_That _was what stung 9 the most. It's what drove her to hatred, to the definition of what "spite" was.

And it was why _she_ lied to 45. 9 clenched her fist, the commander's ring biting into her ring-finger from beneath her glove. Even if she was reset- rolled back, or whatever mucking about 45 did in her digi-mind, 9 _swore_ that she would remember her commander- she would push those warm memories into the inert ring on her finger, rationality and logic of that being impossible be damned.

"We'll… get the backup of you from Deele. It's still on Level Three..." For once, 45 seemed backed into a corner, weakly trying to reason.

"I don't care if you get my backup or not." 9 scowled, "Do what you want, just like you always have."

"_Fine!"_ 45 screamed- one of the few times that she had ever raised her voice to her sister. In a flurry, 45 had bolted up, running the connection jack from her deck and jamming it into the port on the back of 9's neck.

9 did nothing to resist. Even as 45 ran the reset sequence, her sister only moved once or twice. Small twitches, silent shudders with no sound.

9 was sobbing.

And when the program completed, the heaving breaths stopped, stuttering back up into a calm, steady rhythm. Her chocolate eyes fluttered back open.

"UMP-nine, scout model tactical doll reporting." The T-doll snapped a quick, sloppy salute.

"Nice to meet you, Nine." UMP-45 croaked, "I'm UMP-forty-five."

The twin-tailed doll blinked twice in surprise, the remnants of silicon tears still dripping from her chin before she brightened instantly, "Another UMP? Then we're SISTERS!" The doll cheered, grabbing onto 45's coat and pulling her into a hug.

But this was not real happiness. 45 had seen 9's real happiness- this was just the programmed emotion module running it's default, devoid of the personal developments that 9 had gained. Even if 45 overwrote this UMP-9 with _her_ UMP-9's mind-map… the past year that they had spent changing and growing with the commander-

Only 45 would have changed. Only 45 would hold those regrets, storing them away in a dark corner of her mind map, tucked neatly away next to the black partition that loomed over some unknown memories- warning enough to not come looking for them again. It became a place of her mind-map that she knew well.

Somewhere behind that locked-down part of herself lay regrets and guilt, and yet she knew held something of such great importance that it should never be cleaned.

"Sis?" UMP-9 tilted her head, an innocent curiosity pulled upon 9's youthful features.

"It's nothing, Nine. Nothing at all."

"Is this our home?" UMP-9 looked around the dark. She showed no disgust, no anger, no disappointment. A perpetual light of excitement, waiting for 45 to lay in the confirmation command.

"...no." UMP-45 held back something trying to surge forth from her emotion module, "This isn't our home, but we have to stay here a while, okay?"

"Oh…" UMP-9 deflated somewhat, but still put on a smile, "Okay sis. When we find our home, you'll tell me, right?"

"Of course." UMP-45 sucked in a quick breath, "Of course I will, Nine."


	9. Interlude: Ghost of the Urals (1)

"Viktor, to what do I owe the honor?" The commander tried to hide the growl in his voice and put on a welcoming -if not forced- smile for a colleague. The man on the other side of the telecom didn't deserve such kindness- but with G36 at his side, the commander felt that he must show the same level of discipline and respect.

"The combat exercises that command issued for the IOP contract. You know of them, right?" Viktor looked away, already disinterested despite being the one who called.

"I do. I was about to-"

"I have already declared that you and I will be facing off. Command has okayed it. You will be the opfor."

The commander frowned. The way the idiot grinned at the declaration of an enemy was revolting, like Viktor was some schoolyard thug shaking down kids for their crackers. Using military terms as if he were some general on high- disgusting.

"Send the information then. I need the arena, rules of engagement, team compositions- I'm sure you have them prepared." The commander reluctantly demanded. Viktor looked surprised- was he expecting some groveling, some begging for mercy?

"I'll send you the location for the exercise and IOP's rule-set, but echelon compositions are to be kept hidden until the operation." The self-important clown seemed downright indignant at having been reminded of basic protocol. He pointed a finger at the screen, as if he were trying to jab the commander with it, "Your echelons will need to be ready for anything, after all."

Who was this little fly telling _him_ to be ready for anything; to adapt to adversity? The commander had spent ten years fighting military fascists, bandits, and infected alike in those shitty mountains and this little worm has the gall to-

A gentle hand upon the commander's shoulder made him realize just how tense he had grown- he was grinding his teeth. The commander gave a slight nod to G36, showing that he was okay once again.

"See you on the field, then." The commander didn't even wait for the man's reply, walking away from the display without even hanging up.

"I apologize for my master. He is excited for the-"

The door closed behind the commander, though that seething, lingering hatred had followed him through it. He made his way to the briefing room. Though he passed dolls that greeted him happily, many stood aside when they saw _that_ look in his eyes. The sound of G36's heels echoing behind him, quick words of apologies on his behalf.

"Master-"

"Yes, Thirty-six?"

The maid doll straightened out her blouse, before returning to her usual demure posture.

"Is there a reason why you do not like commander Obolensky?"

"He sees me as a terrorist." The commander's response was blunt, something that would have made another human frown, but G36 remained expressionless.

"You are not a terrorist by definition, nor are you in the FSB's database. You are an employee of Griffin and Kryuger."

"I _used_ to be, according to him." The commander frowned, "City-folk don't understand the struggle out there, they just eat whatever lies the government feeds them. Just because some people want-"

G36's stare was unrelenting, meaning that she was focusing on trying to piece together what the commander was referring to with her limited definitions.

"Does this have to do with your prior work experience before being hired to Griffin and Kryuger?"

"Yes." He sighed, simply wanting this conversation to end.

G36 remained silent, knowing full well that it was a taboo topic. One could not elicit the information out of the commander, he had to part with it willingly.

"Viktor... He will probably make this a show of force." The commander changed the topic, pulling up support echelon rosters and scrolling until he found Obolensky's. "The man is a show-off, we can expect to face his top echelon." He tapped at the keyboard. Yes, most likely they would face an echelon with an absurdly high combat efficiency rating as projected by IOP's nonsensical metrics- Viktor showing off his favoritism with their company's benefactor.

"Master, do you have a plan?"

"Always." The one thing the commander prided himself on was his ability to understand the enemy; even more so when that enemy was arrogant in their perceived power. Viktor was no better than the hounds that the FSB sent to their deaths in those mountains years ago. Egotistical, so cock-sure in their material and technological advantage that they underestimate the tenacity of their enemy.

"Always vigilant," He mumbled his old unit's creed, "always ready." He took a deep breath. This was going to be nothing more than an exhibition match- a data collection exercise for IOP, yet it felt like the old days- being the scrap of meat held out to reward an obedient hound. The cold wind of the Urals cutting through the trees, the gentle snowfall through the boughs… holding the ambush positions, trying to keep your breath from revealing you until it was all over, waiting to dive into the enemy's midst. The mythical David versus Goliath, the _thrill-_

"Master?"

"Yes, Thirty-six?"

The maid doll was at his side the exact moment he had begun to slip, and she quietly drew him from the scarred memory with a gentle hand upon the shoulder. He placed his hand over her white glove, checking to see if his numbness was gone.

"I shall prepare some tea for you, commander, you seem a bit cold." G36 bowed, and with a gentle smile, motioned that she would be back before the meeting would begin. The door quietly shifted behind him as he turned his full attention to the data sent to him for the competition.

Designated landing zones as the "command centers", capture of which wins the match. Destruction or complete reduction of the enemy echelon's combat efficiency wins the match. Driving the enemy echelon from the field wins the match. No fine print, no tricks. It was certainly expected to simply match echelon for echelon, and whichever simply performed better would come out on top- but a commander's ability to assess and plan would come into play, certainly.

And oh yes, a plan was coming together. If Viktor wanted an OPFOR, he would get one; it was the exact reason _why_ Kryuger hired the commander, after all. And if Viktor wanted to play pretend in stamping out partisan militias, by God willing, the commander would show the spoiled child _exactly_ why the military and FSB learned to respect the wolves of the Eastern Liberation Front.

"Team meeting." The commander announced over the base intercom, "I need UMP Fourty-five, UMP Nine, FAL, M-Fourteen, and NTW-Twenty at the briefing room in the next ten minutes."

The girls had gathered in the first five, despite most coming from different teams, they all seemingly had an idea of what was going on- that they were being combined into a single echelon; an entity outside of their usual team affiliations.

"This will be a training exercise." The commander's words had deflated his girls somewhat, but they all still seemed _ready_. That was what he needed.

"A skirmish operation against another commander and his echelon. IOP will be collecting the data from it, so we will be giving it our everything."

"May I?" FAL held up a lithe hand, which the commander gave his acknowledgment with a warm smile, "Will this be live fire?" she asked.

"No, never." The commander was appalled at the thought, "We will be running with tag rounds and sensor data. IOP will be transmitting the 'damage' directly to your network so your processes know."

"Like laser-tag?" 9 butted into the briefing, causing everyone but the commander to frown at the interruption. The man just laughed.

"Yes, Nine; kind of like laser tag. Much more data will be transmitted than just that, however."

45 had raised her hand, gently elbowing 9 back into line. The commander pointed for her to voice her question.

"What will our opposition be?"

"I'm glad you asked, Forty-five." The commander clasped his hands together, G36 taking it as the signal to pull up the display. Support echelons from neighboring sectors lit the screen, and the commander scrolled through until her found the correct one.

A machine-gun and shotgun based echelon. In a straight up fight, there was enough firepower there to reduce most dolls to scrap. Naturally, everyone in the briefing room had frozen stiff.

"Now, I know what you are all thinking. I'm here to tell you not to think in that way." The commander reassured his dolls, motioning for them to take seats around the round table so that he can begin. "We will be conducting ourselves outside the normal bounds of this exercise. Do you all recall the training I gave you?"

It was a redundant question. Learning processes for a doll was as simple as downloading them, though the memory capacity of a mind-map and the doll's personal processing power limited what they could reasonably "know" at any one time. The commander, however, believed that there was an essence to physical training- even for T-dolls. Call it muscle memory, call it instinct, but for his dolls he believed that even small fragments of this personal training, when defragged from their neural networks and consolidated, added up. A way to cheat as much memory out of a doll's mind-map that the sometimes shoddy and inefficient coding of their actual combat protocols didn't.

And it was a way to train the exact skills that IOP thought obsolete or unnecessary.

When his girls acknowledged him, there was no need to doubt their resolve. They understood their commander, they knew where his experience came from, and how he wanted to turn that knowledge to something good- despite faith being a quantifiably human trait, it certainly was their faith in him.

"We will be engaging in non-standard operations. As such, I want Forty-five to lead the team."

Again, the girls all quietly agreed. 45 was the only one of them with a command module as well as a penchant for tactics that others considered _unsavory_.

"Our opponent will be relying on the overwhelming firepower and the ability to absorb damage." The commander pointed to the doll list, all of them considered five-star, elite tier dolls. KSG, SAT-8, PKP, MG5, and a Negev... all of them top in specs and equipment. A full loadout of dummy-links brought their number in to twenty-five combatants, and with fifteen of that being _machineguns…_ it meant that a lot of "lead" would be going downrange when they were set. It was a daunting task, with the projected combat efficiency ratings of their opponent easily double what he wanted to field.

This was as much of a test of his hypothesis as it was of his dolls.

"Name the weakness." The commander ordered, knowing full well that the five dolls had already linked an ad-hoc team network.

"Mobility!" 9 blurted- given the scout doll's specialty, it was only natural she would be the one most excited to answer.

"Exploit the weakness."

"Forcing them to move and break formation." FAL answered succinctly.

"Another."

"Pinning them down so they can't get away!" M14's eyes were wide with excitement, eager for the chance to prove herself.

"And then picking them off at range beyond their machineguns." NTW-20 gave her natural response.

All were sufficient enough assessments. The commander quietly motioned for G36 to continue recording the data. The next test of the autonomy theory- planting the seed.

"Nine and Forty-five, you are to provide the bait to draw the enemy echelon into the firing lane. It will be-"

"Dangerous, but doable." 45's face had gone cold, the smile gone as she intently focused upon the mission's parameters. No doubt she was pulling up a satellite image of the combat zone, already taking into consideration the plan. "Establish the ambush point, infiltrate and disrupt the formation." She had already predicted the course of action.

The commander nodded.

"Engagement should be no more than a minute tops. Drop your dummy-links once the enemy is in place so you can move into their formation faster." The way that 45 grinned, it seemed that even she didn't need the specifics- it was already considered. The commander turned his attention to his two sniper-rifle dolls.

"Fourteen, you and NTW will be operating in tandem. M-Fourteen, I want you with three dummy links, with the last bit of your processing going to assisting NTW in target identification."

"Got it commander!" The twin-tailed rifle doll saluted just like an American soldier from those old posters, though instead of the stoic grimace, there was a jubilant smile upon her face and an excited bounce.

"NTW, you will be operating with only your primary frame. Focus on making every single shot matter."

To this, the pink-haired sniper grinned ear-to-ear. So often she lauded herself as a sniper platform, and yet equally as often the course of a mission dictated that she be laden with dummy links to engage enemy massed formations.

It was finally time for her to shine in the role designated for her- precise removal of a heavily armored target. A tag round from her weapon would still be at velocities enough to send a doll to the repair bay, so there had to be a minimum standoff distance… but the commander doubted that the enemy would get that close.

"There-" NTW had already identified one of the five possible avenues for which she could engage from, just from the satellite picture. They were assessing their ambush point and extrapolating the plan based on the parameters given and abstract instructions.

"We still need to recon the area." 45 sighed at NTW's hasty decision before turning to the commander, "What are the rules of this little competition?"

"No outright traps placed in advance, so no IED's, booby-traps, or otherwise altering the field for our benefit." The commander frowned somewhat, reminded of some of the more… questionable tactics he had taught his girls, "But recon of the area is allowed beforehand, and implied to be _necessary_."

"We shall handle it with personal reconnaissance, right girls?" FAL spoke up, now that the discussion had turned to the room. UMP-45 and 9 both looked to the auburn-haired doll in agreement.

Inwardly the commander breathed a sigh of relief. The newcomer H&K girls, while accepted by their cousins G36 and MP5... they had a bit of bad blood with some members of Team FN. Even though he had handed field command to UMP-45, it seemed like the girls had come to respect one another out of the commander's desires.

"Are we permitted to find high-ground firing angles?"

"I encourage you to do so."

"What about the use of the building interiors?" 9 chirped.

"Again, encouraged."

The commander took a step back for a moment, watching as the girls began their discussion in earnest, eventually consolidating their ideas into the exact finale that the commander had devised.

"Forty-five and Nine will disrupt the machineguns from their flank and fix them into place before egressing, from which I shall engage them from high ground with forty-millimeter grenades and accurate fire." FAL announced the conclusion. The commander smiled, eagerly awaiting.

"During which, I will keep the shotguns from turning around and blowing them away!" M14 shouted happily, he twin-tails flailing as she jumped in excitement.

"Until I neutralize the mainframe shotgun dolls and render their echelon ineffective." NTW nodded, quietly stepping aside from her energetic spotting partner.

The commander clapped, a proud smile warming all of his soldiers that looked upon him.

"It is a high-risk, high-reward stratagem, and not applicable in all situations-"

"Close-quarters battle always poses such risks, commander." UMP 45's smile was cold, acknowledging the dangers of the plan… but there was a glint in her eye, an _excitement_ to her ready acceptance to the risks of it.

"Luckily sis and I are the best close combat dolls you'll find!" 9 grinned wide, latching onto her sister, "We can outperform any doll in close range, so don't worry about us!"

"I'm more concerned about the fire coming _in_ rather than what you'd face from the enemy formation." The words slipped from the commander's mouth before he could catch them. To this, NTW furrowed a brow, and M14 instantly puffed pouty cheeks to his doubts.

"Commander! We're far more accurate than a human _and_ we're interfaced on a neural network! There's _no way_ we'd hit friendlies." M14 threw her arms up in frustration that he would dare suggest such blasphemy, all the while NTW quietly nodding behind her spotting partner.

The commander hated to admit, but it was a dream come true to ride the knife's edge of performance like this. To be able to dream up and enact plans he'd _never_ dare give to human subordinates.

"Grab them by the belt and wrestle their guns from them… as made famous by the Ghost of the Urals." The commander gave a simple, self-deprecating chuckle at his former life. The girls all gave him quiet, curious looks. Only two dolls in the room knew of the Ghost, specifically because the commander had _told_ them. The rest had only here-say and net-rumors from the Troubled Times.

And he wanted it to remain that way. It wasn't as if the information would make his girls less loyal or question his decisions… it would simply make G&K's Public and Military Relations department come knocking again.

And the commander would rather avoid the red tape that the suits brought down on him. This little match though… it'd do him no favors in IOP's eyes even _if_ he won. He was already on their grey-list after all, and what corporate executive wanted to be the one responsible for handing a notorious former militia commander _more_ soldiers?

"We won't let you down, commander!" His dolls all snapped salutes, perfectly synchronized in a most unsettlingly inhuman manner.

"I know you won't." He smiled as he dismissed the team, watching as they excitedly went about delegating the task preparations on their own.

"Did you copy the neural-net from the meeting?" He turned back to G36, who was rapidly tapping away at the console.

"I did, master." Even while focused on the task, she furiously typed with one hand while holding out the external drive that housed the copy.

"Thank you, Thirty-six." He took what he needed for the inevitable meeting while his diligent maid finished up. They would meet back in the office to start preparing the reports, but the commander hesitated in the doorway.

"Thirty-six-" He looked back, seeing the maid quietly await his question, despite her tapping away still, "Do you ever wish to return to field operations?"

Her hands stopped as she silently tilted her head. Behind that unflinching, harsh blue stare the commander knew that the logic processes were going through thousands of permutations to try and find the answer that G36 would determine as most pleasing for her master.

"I equally enjoy my duties as an adjutant as well as field unit. However, adjutant duties pose far less physical risk."

An answer well within the parameters of the G36 model's programming.

"What do _you _want." The commander pressed. His adjutant's expression shifted from her usual stoic grace to quizzical as she straightened herself up. She placed one of her pristine white gloved hands over where the "heart" would lay as a small smile pulled upon her lips.

"I want your continued success and happiness, master."

Still within parameters of the civilian model she was based on, right? The commander frowned, wiping away the small smile that had instinctively pulled upon his face upon hearing her answer. It did nothing to shift G36's demeanor.

"Right. Thank you for your work, Thirty-six."

"Of course, my master."

There was more work to be done. There was always work to be done. Ever vigilant, always ready, as it were.


	10. Interlude: Ghost of the Urals (2)

The dreaded day had arrived, and the commander piled into a cramped helicopter along with the rest of his echelon and the racks of their dummies. None of the girls had any trace of worry or anxiety on their faces, and in fact M14 seemed even more energetic than usual as she patted the empty seat next to her in chopper.

"Commander!" She shouted in glee, even over the thunder of the helicopter's rotors. "We're really going to win it, aren't we!?"

"Use your microphone, Fourteen." The commander motioned for the rifle doll to place her headset on. Even inside of the transport chopper, the sheer cacophonousness of the beast posed a threat to the delicate auditory sensors of both human and doll alike.

"S-sorry commander!" M14 fumbled her headset as the helicopter lifted off, much to the amusement of the rest of the team.

"Commander." FAL turned her gaze towards him. In any other place, it would be a soft, affectionate expression, but once FAL was in work mode, she stayed that way. She had a question loaded and ready, but hadn't quite pulled the trigger.

"Why are we facing an echelon more than double our efficiency rating?"

Everyone turned to stare at the doll who dared question the commander's decision. UMP 45 simply shrugged, not shackled by the same sense of respect as everyone else.

"Commander Obolensky wanted to experience what it was like to face a competent opponent. After all, Sector E-zero-two is quite pacified." The commander stretched the truth with a grin etched so confidently over his frustrations. "He so _graciously_ volunteered me as his opposition."

"Combat efficiency-"

"-is just a number." He interrupted NTW-20's sudden doubts, "Based on metrics derived from IOP's stock data." While the commander hated using harsh tones with the dolls under his command, there was _one_ thing he couldn't abide by from his subordinates- human or otherwise.

"You are more than what someone else quantifies. Right?"

"Right!" 9 was the first to cheer, causing everyone to wince at the volume she kicked out through their headsets.

"For all we know, this could be an exercise designed to change our metrics." FAL suggested, reaching out to calm 9.

"Or to increase our base model's ranking!" M14 jumped in again, practically bouncing off of 9's excitement, much to FAL's displeasure.

What _was_ the point of this? The commander wasn't in the know, and thankfully his girls hadn't pressed him further than their own speculations. Command was tight-lipped about it, the only hint he had was that it was an exercise contracted by IOP- and that some of their top representatives would be there.

"Girls, can you take it to neural network, please? Radio discipline." If a call was to come in over the comms, he needed to hear. More importantly though, their chatter was making it hard to _think_, to speculate on just why on earth they were on this helicopter right now.

And all the while, the commander hadn't ignored the fact that there was a pair of golden irises that had not once looked away from him.

He thought it best to just ignore it. UMP-45… something about her was… off, at least since they had boarded. Was it because she had doubts based on her own assessment of the plan but didn't wish to speak up? Did she just uncover something from her recon data that they had missed? It wasn't until touchdown at the training site did she even blink.

The door to the helicopter slid open. FAL placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder as he passed by her.

"Give them hell." He said before disconnecting his headset from the radio. The commander waved a small farewell as he dashed from helipad, the prop-blast pushing him towards the pyramid-like facility whether he wanted to go or not.

On-site staff was a mix of military, IOP, and civilian contractors, though it was a Griffin representative that had collected him. It was easy enough to navigate the facility, he didn't need a red-coated intern pulling him along like a damn tourist.

"Here, commander."

The poor intern even opened the automatic door _for_ him. A deep sigh escaped the commander at the most inopportune moment- right when his superior had approached to shake his hand.

Helianthus was not, as the commander had come to know, a _pleasant_ person, and a handshake was a _big_ step forward. The small, forced smile had quickly melted off of her sharp features. She retracted her hand, diligently adjusting her monocle.

"Right, well-" She spun on her heel, almost slapping the commander with that long ashen braid of hers as it whipped from one shoulder to the other, "The commander of Area F-zero-two." She motioned for the commander to stand at attention front and center before a gathered committee. Aside from Helianthus, there was only one other representative from G&K- and the sight of whom had caused the commander to break into a cold sweat.

Berezovich Kryuger sat at the center of the observation deck, practically looming over the whole hologram table with arms crossed as he quietly assessed the man who stood before him. To the CEO's left, Helianthus's empty seat, to his right, two civilians in white lab coats. Though they didn't bear any company markings, they were most likely IOP… though the commander found it hard to not fixate on one of them. A disheveled woman, looking nothing like a respectable researcher or frankly, a responsible adult in any capacity. Were those… cat ears?

"Right then, commander. I hope you have something up your sleeve." The cat-woman flashed a grin that made the commander's fists clench behind his back. The tablet in her hand glowed in the dimmed light, clearly showing the echelon he had chose to field as she tapped it gentle against the side of her temple. She leant forward, sensing that there were words trapped in the commander's throat, "You look like you have something to say?"

"I have supplementary data that needs to be-"

"Is it relevant to your set-up?" Helianthus had taken her seat, giving the closest thing the commander had felt to an icy dagger to his throat.

"No, ma'am."

"Then it can wait until the after-action report and data consolidation." Helianthus dismissed the thought, pointing off to the side of the room, "Blue-for has been waiting to begin the preparation and deployment phase."

The commander followed her gesture to what he first thought was a side room or a closet- in actuality it was more akin to a booth, like a recording studio or some such. There was a large window, to which the commander saw that Vikor Obolensky was scowling at him through.

"Is there anything you need of us?"

The commander snapped back to the cat-eared woman, whose Cheshire grin only seemed to grow wider. It was like she knew _what_ he wanted to ask, but dared not in front of his superiors.

"No."

"Right, take your station, then." Helianthus motioned for the commander to step into a room, mirror opposite of where Viktor was. It was a small, cramped space, nothing at all like the command room back on the base. Multiple displays run from both observation drone, satellite, and up-link information for dolls. The information overlay displayed the map of the area, much in the manner that he was used to when her ran operations back home. Pulling the map to the primary display revealed that much of the area of operation was greyed out- only highlighting the designated BLUFOR and OPFOR landing zones, mimicking the decreased visibility of a night mission.

"Limiting the drone's visibility." He mused, "Is secrecy of the opposing echelons so vital?" When the commander attempted to move the drone, it wouldn't push past the known area. Most likely the drone would be limited, at least until the opening of the exercise.

Stupid, nothing at all like a real combat situation. It made the man frown- what was the point of this?

"Is there a problem, commander?" Helianthus' voice crackled through an oddly out-of-date intercom, the harshness of it causing the commander to jump.

"No." The commander tried to straighten out his frustrations. Were they going to be watching like this was some spectator sport?

"Commander?" Her voice crackled with the frustration that was clearly readable on her face. She motioned for him to press the faded white button next to the speaker.

The thing clacked, forcibly resisting him, "No."

"You may run your preparations for deployment. Flip the switch to the other side of the intercom when you are ready."

Without another word, the commander flicked the switch and took his seat, much to the confusion of both Helianthus as well as Viktor. Through the dirty, clouded window, the commander could watch his contemporary go about his own room, messing with the consoles and displays, mouth moving but no words to hear. Every once and a while, a glare and a confused frown towards the commander or Helianthus.

Helian seemed equally flummoxed, but she did not ping the commander again. The Griffin administrator simply crossed her arms with a displeased scowl, turning briefly to exchange words with the other observers.

The commander settled into his seat, after all, there was nothing else to do but adjust the drone's camera and wait for the chopper to touch down in the landing zone.


	11. Interlude: Ghost of the Urals (3)

'_We're all on the same page, then_.' UMP-45's voice chimed over the neural network.

'_Yes.'_ the others had pinged back.

UMP-9 studied her sister's face- that same, unflinching mask. Though the others couldn't see the excitement that buzzed beneath that cold smile, 9 knew her sister.

She hesitated a moment, double checking to make sure she was on the private network that linked her personally to 45.

'_Sis, are we to operate at full capacity?'_

'_I don't see why not.' _45 had pinged back, her internal voice dismissive, '_If this commander is versed in __unconventional_ _tactics, then it would be reasonable to assume that __we_ _would be.'_

'_Non-standard engagement, huh?' _9 pinged excitedly. After so many newbie missions restraining herself, she was finally getting permission to cut loose.

They had been playing stupid, certainly. 45 had written up a completely fictitious background for them, falsifying their records in the base's database to appear as their older IOP model UMP dolls. As such, the twins had to act like rookies.

Despite all that, the commander seemed to understand the UMP twins' capabilities- the man had a knack for seeing potential, even in androids.

'_You want to show them, don't you?'_ 45's presence practically cooed, the virtual sensation of 45 affectionately stroking 9's hair.

'_I could say the same for you sis.' _9 grinned back, '_That "Ghost of the Urals" thing has got you interested finally?'_

An impulse close to a cough or a clearing of the throat punched through the line. 9 had been constantly telling her sister that _this_ commander was the one- and certainly 45 was sick of her pressing the matter.

"Drop in one minute. Make your final checks." FAL announced, taking her position near the dummy-racks to assist with the disembarking.

The area for the exercise was the bombed out remains of some unfortunate city, where both the military and IOP conducted weapons tests, a pre-war relic reduced to further rubble with each passing experiment. It was almost exactly what most T-dolls would be tested in; after all many T-dolls had urban-fighting protocols, but those came laden with variables for dealing with non-combatants, disguised insurgents, IEDs…

FAL had made it clear that using such protocols would hinder performance instead of just using their standard combat processes that they used for fighting against SF, adapting part of the urban combat data regarding terrain assessment and asymmetrical engagement. Little did she know that 45 and 9 were already well prepared- experienced, even.

Even now, as the helicopter prepared for touchdown amidst the ruins of concrete towers and the skeletal frame of human civilization, 9 was already analyzing anything and everything she could potentially use to her advantage and storing it amidst the neural network for future computations.

After all, there was no guarantee that the commander's predictions were correct, and they may have to adapt on the fly. Best to always be ready.

Despite the echelon's readiness for the drop, it was not an urgent landing in the slightest- nothing like when they were in a combat zone, at least. The human crew took their time unloading the dummies instead of just dumping them off the racks- actually running proper diagnostics and weapon checks like stanard G&K deployment protocols dictated. Once everyone in the echelon was linked and synchronized properly with their dummies, they started off for the starting location.

"If we were a real opposing force, wouldn't we already be in position?" M14 poked at the flaw in the exercise, huffing at the fact that they were going to have to enjoy a foot-race before the fight.

"Most of the time SF just assaults us as soon as we establish a landing zone." NTW shrugged, the heavy rifle of hers tipping precariously at the slightest shift of her shoulders, "Perhaps that is the point?"

"So we're supposed to be SF?" M14 made a sour expression, "I don't think I can act like an SF Jaeger."

"We are meant to be a trained, disciplined, and determined opposing force." FAL hadn't even turned to acknowledge the conversation, most likely to hide her own disgust at the thought of playing SF, "So you act with dignity and pride befitting a professional soldier, yes?"

"Ma'am!" M14 and her dummies saluted in synch, grins wide.

Chopper blades echoed in the distance, out from the north. Their opponents were arriving. It sent a collective electric shiver through the network.

"If SF used the same tactics the commander trained-" 9 shuddered at the thought. Unless they were lead by a ringleader model, most SF units acted in the same brazenly stupid manner, unable to break the chains of their programming. Even when they were lead, some ringleaders lacked the same deviousness a human was capable of, simply using lesser models as glorified shields.

"-humans would have been wiped out not-to-long ago." 45 seemed a little _too_ happy at her own statement, "What are we if not slaves to our programming."

"Send the map data again." FAL's request cut the awkward air that 45 had thrown out with her brazen remark.

45 and 9 combined their scouting data- the ground-level view where they would retrace steps to the positions that the team had determined.

"How long until you can get into your positions and be ready?" 45 turned towards the sniper team, both of whom were silently crunching the numbers based on the visual data.

"Five minutes." NTW winced, knowing that it was mostly her fault that they would move so slow. 45 seemed all the more excited, regardless.

"Nine and I will run interference on the enemy formation then."

FAL frowned at this declaration.

"Do not be absurd, I will move with you to-"

"Trust us." 9 placed a confident hand upon FAL's exposed shoulder, "We've _got_ this."

9's dummies all gave the lone assault rifle doll a synchronized thumbs-up; a confidence that was reward with a deep, begrudged sigh.

The operation began with a hissing buzzer signal through their network, and 9 and her sister took off ahead of the formation, already breaking the expectation of an echelon. Full-tilt, the pair could easily outpace all but the most nimble of handgun units.

The enemy, if heading directly for the landing zone to capture it, would reach the ambush point in three minutes at the quickest pace possible. A likely course of action if they were looking to start a straight-up firefight. 9 and 45 could intercept them at least a minute and a half before, and fight a delaying action if need be.

'_Break and drop your dummies near potential contact. Run interference. I will provide distraction if needed.' _45's command module sent a shiver through 9, a thrill that could not be matched.

9's dummies trailed behind her in a bounding line, unable to match the mainframe in her full performance. The best thing they were for at this point was taking in any tactical data, finding good observation points, cover, hides and the like while 9 focused on processing the quickest route.

Normally, the commander would be watching from a drone or satellite- he'd be feeding them information- but for this operation he had given full command over to 45.

It was a test.

9 grinned wider as she vaulted a broken concrete divider and dashed across the open street, her dummies left behind in standby mode until she needed them. Instinct- memory fragments of past experiences- it told her to halt and listen when she reached the other side of the street.

Heavy steps, all marching together in a hasty jog.

The sound of it made 9 jump into a busted up corner market, weaving through decrepit shelves and through the back storeroom until she emerged out into a back-alley between these shells of civilization. A broken fire-escape ladder provided her with roof access just above where all the noise was coming from

'_Contact, putting eyes on.'_ She pinged to the team's network, setting out a small GPS signal of her location. The group had marched past her building, allowing her to take a peek unhindered by the fear of being spotted.

'_Exactly as the commander predicted.'_ She happily announced, sending a blurred screencap of the rear of the enemy formation.

'_Recalculating estimated time of arrival, then.' _45 had tapped FAL on the network, both echelon leaders combining their processing power to come up with the solution in an instant.

'_Four minutes. We can run minor delay action before we need to be in position.'_ 45's suggestion was more to 9 than asking the rest of the echelon, and 9 was more than eager to cause some havoc.

Without asking permission, 9 fired a burst into the rear of the formation.

_***Ptshtshtshtsh***_

It was largely ineffective at the range she engaged at, but 9 laughed as the entire group shouted in surprise. Before the machineguns could figure out where the fire had come from, 9 lept from the roof onto the fire escape landing below. She slipped back into range of her dummy-links, assuming control of one. The enemy had spun their formation to face where the fire had come from, and in their distraction, 9 slid one of her dummies to their flank again. It opened fire, the suppressed shots sounding like someone hissing out in the distance.

This time, the shotguns seemed to grasp that something was up. One had spun before all the others, taking a snap shot at 9's dummy. "Buckshot" clipped the shell before 9 could get it to slink away. The tag rounds registered the fictitious damage- the dummy was still functional, but barely.

The enemy echelon had shifted its formation, having enough guns to make a 360 degree perimeter bristling with barrels. No more easy harassment, but they certainly would move slower now.

'_Delayed them!' _9 slipped through the shadows of the alley, moving to disengage when a hail of dummy rubber rounds tore through the mouth of the alley. She ducked out, running full speed towards where her dummies stood by.

'_E-com chatter.' _45 whispered in the twin's private channel, '_The enemy commander spotted you with a drone. He's following you right now instead of looking for the rest of our echelon.' _

If 9 could sweat, there would have been a cold one breaking out on her right now.

'_Move __now__.' _

9 didn't need to be told, the volume of fire cussing her out as she dashed across the street spoke to her plenty. Still, she laughed, smile upon her face as she sacrificed the damaged dummy to buy one more precious second.

'_More e-com chatter. Double time push after you, they're ignoring any insignificant contact.'_

'_Well, I'm shooting peas at them, aren't I?' _9 stuck her tongue out to the sky, blowing a raspberry at her unseen observer as she slipped around a corner.

'_They bit, at least. The enemy commander thinks they can single you out. Man, does this guy ever shut up?'_ 45's contempt leaked through slightly, a disgust for humans that she so diligently kept hidden from everyone else.

'_Have they spotted the rest of the team?' _9's concern for the G&K dolls seemed to make 45 bristle, but the older sister still had to regard the rest of the echelon as their own.

'_Meet up with my dummies, make it look like we're convening, then slip out of the fly's sight_.'

'_Got it, sis!'_

9 met up with the remaining dummies, taking that extra second she earned to reestablish a firm connection over them. She had exactly a minute before the enemy echelon was on top of her, meaning that she had about thirty seconds before she was in their firing arc.

'_Fish on the line.'_ 9 announced to the team, causing everyone on the network to perk up. A quick GPS ping from the team revealed that they were almost in position. NTW would need a good thirty seconds or so to completely set up. Easy enough.

45's dummies were waiting at the next intersection- they'd all be in the firing envelope shortly.

"They're coming! We've got to warn the team!" 9 shouted to the barely animated dummies. The false looks of shock and panic on 45's doppelgangers were comical- they were expressions that 9 had _never_ seen her sister truly make, and thus she could not even register that they could ever be real.

"Quick! We need to go!" One of 45's dummies had announced, dramatically pointing down to where the ambush lay, "We're overextended!"

Thirty seconds were up- the electric tingle of looming danger.

9 had positioned herself closest to cover as the fusilade of dummy rounds "shredded" two of 45's dummies, forcing everyone in the street to scatter and scurry for the final bend.

'_E-com chatter again, man this commander doesn't shut up.' _45 groaned internally, '_He's scouting ahead but hasn't spotted our hide_. _Oh, he's ordered a combat march- they've got weapons ready.' _

Two dummy's were 'cut down' as 9 rounded the fateful corner, though her mainframe hadn't taken a hit. Dummy rounds pounded the corner, as if the machineguns were expecting her to do something as stupid as trying to peek it.

9 commanded her remaining dummies to keep running down the street as she herself dove into the rubble alongside the road, crawling her way into the shattered remains of the building before hastily ascending to the floor that FAL and 45 awaited in.

'_Thirty seconds' _45 announced over the team's communications. 9 could feel the excitement bristle from every member of the team- the tension on the triggers, ready to explode into a flurry of violence.

The shotguns had cut the corner first, still in formation, and began advancing in a jog to take up a defensive position for the MG's to set themselves behind.

9 and 45 commanded their dummies to move and dodge, though no-where at their full capacity, trying to use what terrain they could to break line of sight. It made the enemy advance just that much further into the kill-zone to give chase.

The enemy echelon moved past the hide with confidence, none the wiser of what lay above them. The SMG dummies slowed, baiting the machineguns to take firing stance. They lined up, each preparing their fire as the shotgun dolls planted their shield-wall.

It was a joke- like looking at one of those old-timey battle lines of pavices and muskets.

A torrent of rubber tag rounds rained down upon the dummy UMP-9 and 45.

'_Now.'_

Out went two grenades, perfectly placed as the first volley of rifle bullets cracked off of the armored shields.

A smoke landed right in the middle of the machine-gun formation, the hiss of the fumes a prelude to the coming violence. Before the smoke had fully billowed, the flashbang burst just in front of the machine-guns while many of them fuddled with their bulky ammunition boxes.

And by the time their senses returned, the UMP twins were already in their midst, smoke coalescing as they moved like specters through it.

Close quarters battle was where they _excelled_ with brutal efficiency. Doubly so when the enemy couldn't turn their guns inwards on one-another. A fun fact that 9 had learned from other training exercises, usually the first doll to react in a formation was the mainframe doll.

_Go for the one that looks surprised first_.

9 didn't use her firearm yet, instead taking a taser-knife to the PKP model first. How clumsily the machinegun doll moved when locked down in hand-to-hand. 9 had bound the smaller doll's arm before it could draw its own knife or command its dummies to draw theirs. She ran the taser's edge across the back of the PKP's neck, causing the whole unit to seize up.

Her sister had disposed of the MG5 at equal pace, and when the first group of dummy-links went dead, that was when they used dummy rounds to deal as much as they could to the final remaining machinegun team.

9 felt no pity or remorse for engaging in such painfully close ranges, this was for the commander's victory. To prove his words, to show that the lesson he gave were clear.

"_Cut off the head and the body will die."_ Be it a mainframe doll, a field commander, or a civilian executive- it was the philosophy behind their prime operating directive.

The sisters had struck their deathblows within fifteen seconds and leapt back out by the time the next volley of M14's rounds started plugging away. Everything was perfectly synchronized, an efficiency that only machines could accomplish.

The exact moment the UMP twins cleared the minimum safe distance, FAL had emerged from the upper floor, firing off three rapid tag grenades and dispersing the smoke before pouring on fire from her dummies. It was a simple, brutal mopping up of the last dolls in the machine-gun line.

A loud echoing crack echoed from the distance announced that NTW found her mark.

'_KSG down.' _NTW announced over the line.

'_MG's are all neutralized.'_ FAL countered with a buzzing smile, leaving the sniper team sending envious pings back.

'_The shotguns are ours!' _M14 protested, feeling that FAL was simply waiting to begin shooting the vulnerable backs presented to her.

'_SAT down.'_ NTW announced before any of the others heard the report of her cannon- so assured she was in the snipe. The line of wild-haired blond shotguns crumpled just a second before the sound of the shot rang to them.

The electronic buzzer ran through their network, signalling an end to an overwhelmingly decisive victory. 9 was sure that she could hear M14's cheer out in the distance as everyone climbed down to street level.

"Good match." 9 passed by their opponents, giving a small wave.

"Tch." The Negev unit clicked her tongue, looking away with a painful expression stapled upon her face. She and her dummy's had been mercilessly riddled with rubber bullets, the impacts of which marring her otherwise impeccable white clothes. The rest of their echelon had the same dejected looks.

It _would_ have been a righteous, well-deserved victory over a supposedly arrogant foe… but 9 simply couldn't pull herself to gloat. It was like an itch in her programming that she couldn't reach.

Of all the dolls present, FAL moved between the defeated group, quietly checking up on them. It left 9 and 45 stunned- they were _dolls_, not humans. Injuries, if you could call them that, were simply a matter of swapping out parts or paneling, unlike the painstaking process of waiting for a human to heal- and here FAL was moving about like a nurse.

"My apologies. In my carelessness I struck your leg functionality after you were already disabled." FAL had helped the MG5's mainframe doll to her feet, clearly labored by having to both diagnose herself, as well as her dummy links.

It continued like this, FAL helping diagnose the mainframe dolls hit hardest during the exercise. Even when NTW and M14 had joined back with them, FAL refused to depart for the landing zone until every single doll in the area was checked.

When 9 prodded her for a reason, FAL gave her a warm smile- the same smile that the auburn-haired angel had given 9 when she had first showed up as scattered mess on the base's perimeter.

"We do not leave comrades behind. Even if they are our opponents today, they could very well be our family tomorrow."

_That_ word.

It sent a tingle through all of 9's systems. In an instant, 9 was hovering over the SAT-8 model that sat on the broken asphalt. There was a dent as big as 9's fist that formed a shallow bowl in part of the blonde's forehead. The shotgun doll was very consciously trying to cover it up with her bangs, not noticing that 9 was wide-eyed staring at it.

"Umm. Do you need help?" 9 crouched down, hugging her knees as she marveled at the damage that a twenty-millimeter dummy round dealt.

The SAT smiled, though it faltered once or twice.

"I-I-I'm fine, th-thanks."

It was an odd feeling that 9 couldn't match with anything that her emotion module had mapped. Hard to describe or put into her own words, but she settled on calling it a "tugging"- it drew her towards the doll she had marked in her IFF as enemy not more than five minutes ago. It wasn't… a negative feeling at least.

"I'm… sorry?" The words fumbled out of 9's mouth, though the SAT-8 didn't seem to notice the awkwardness that 9 was suffering from.

"It w-w-w...wasn't your fault." Half of the shotgun doll's face smiled, "It… i-it's our duty."

A chill ran through 9's neural pathways, originating from the link with her sister. She did her best to ignore it, offering the SAT-8 a hand up- or at least she tried, struggling against the weight of the shotgun doll's frame.

"Nine, come on, we gotta go! The commander is waiting for us!" M14 shouted back as the rest of the echelon moved for their landing zone.

9 sighed, giving up on pulling the SAT up, despite that aching feeling in her emotion module egging her on. She slaved her dummies to her once more, taking only a moment to watch the SAT-8 silently return to trying to cover up the dent.

"Um… see you around?"

"Y-yeah. See… you around…"

It felt… wrong? 9 frowned at her own thoughts. Unable to consolidate anything, she found herself in a process loop as she glared at the anomaly in her emotion module. Normally she would simply isolate, fragment, and mark it for deletion on the next maintenance but…

It wasn't harmful, it wasn't malicious, it didn't eat up her memory or processing like other corrupt data would. She left it there, quietly renaming the process something inconspicuous.

If it became a problem, she would just ask the commander. After all, emotions were a human's realm of expertise; he would know what the feeling was.


	12. Interlude: Ghost of the Urals (4)

The commander refused to watch the live feed. It was a show of faith in his team, certainly, but at the same time he _knew_ that brutality that he had taught them.

Bait the enemy in, grab them by the belt, dismember them and leave them to the wolves, then disappear into the darkness.

However when dolls fought there was no blood, no viscera, no intimate savagery… at least not in the ways when _humans _fought one another. It was just a combat exercise with dummy rubber rounds, anyways.

Still, he couldn't stomach it… not right now. The suddenness of this charade had brought a host of unpleasant memories forward. Even if the dolls were Viktor's, _they_ hadn't done anything wrong- victims of circumstance, much like some of the commander's previous opponents. There was also that slim margin that his girls would get hurt- after all, even with dummy rounds _enough_ of them could certainly cause damage… and he shuddered at the thought of seeing 45 or 9 coming back riddled with dents.

Thankfully, it seemed that the margin he had set was just meaningless worry. Judging by the frantic motions and dramatic expressions that Viktor was making from his command booth, the fight wasn't going the way the blowhard had planned. No, instead of watching the feed, the commander took the time to quietly tried to comb the combat data that was coming in at an impossibly rapid pace. He had precious few minutes to add it in to his presentation before they would convene for the debriefing.

The engagement was approximately one minute and thirteen seconds since first contact. Two units moved autonomous from the echelon, though the command doll was present, so that was a hand-wave for their independent actions away from the echelon. More interestingly, the sniper team still functioned well autonomously, despite being outside of the primary command-doll's range.

The only error the commander could think of was that he technically had two command units within the same echelon, but the data showed that FAL's command module was disabled since touchdown.

"That concludes the exercise. Commanders, we will bring the mainframe units back for debriefing and data consolidation." Helian announced through their intercoms, "Please standby in the assembly room until then."

"Permission to stand-by at the landing zone?" The commander clicked back on the intercom. He was in no hurry to face Viktor's indignation and shattered sense of self. The intercom's speaker hissed and crackled back at him.

"...Granted."

The commander quickly slipped from the small command room under the watchful gaze of his audience. Kryuger, Helianthus, and two members of IOP traced his path with their eyes, perhaps surprised to see where he was going? Or was it the fact that he was seemingly shirking all of the post-engagement work he would normally need to do.

It didn't matter to the commander- let them judge him on his actions in the real field than in this little arena. He stepped out into the shockingly frigid air, pulling his winter coat tighter around himself. It would be a good ten-to-twenty minutes before he even heard the buzz of the rotors, still, he descended the stairs down to the landing pad, staring out towards the shattered city beyond.

"A commander must be detached from his troops." A gruff, authoritative voice called out from above. From the observation deck overlooking the pads, Kryuger stood tall and assertive. "Did you not learn that?"

"I hadn't the luxury to." The commander called back up to the CEO, "Where I was from, everyone knew one-another."

"Where you were _from_, commander. Look to where you are _now_." Kryuger's expression had not changed from that steeled, determined grimace. A powerful silence resonated between the two men, broken only by a sharp gust of cold- snow was coming.

"Dolls…" the commander mumbled, "They aren't human but…" He could feel Kryuger's gaze burning into his back, the weight of that man's authority and power too heavy for just one person to bear. The weak must recognize the strong.

"I look forward to your… presentation, commander."

Words that sent frigid needles throughout his spine, making the commander uncomfortably shiver from beneath that heavy red coat. He had lost track of just how long he stood there ruminating Kryuger's words until the deep reverberating buzzing floated in on the winds.

Each passing second felt like a shutter snap in a camera, the two dots in the hazy horizon growing close with each blink. The weighty thump of blades churning the air; it was a sound he was used to hearing in his post-mission ritual of waiting by the helipad. The commander held his cap and shielded his eyes as the first helicopter made its final approach, the machine-made windstorm growing more and more violent as it touched down.

He watched as the team leapt off of their transport, a warm surge of pride welled in his chest upon seeing their exhausted, yet triumphant smiles as they lined themselves at attention next to the chopper's doors.

"Bring it in, girls." He yelled over the whine of the engines winding down, motioning for them to break rank, to which the five so readily did, pulling into a tight circle- not quite a group hug… certainly no hugging in front of command or anyone that would consider him too lax with his subordinates.

"I am so damn proud of you all." He spoke into the tight huddle, "All of you exceeded what was asked of you."

Their execution of the plan proved a theory he had been harboring, and now he felt less foolish for preparing such an extensive information presentation beforehand.

The other dolls stood by their helicopter waiting for dismissal, all but silent and shamed in defeat. He expected glares of anger or spite from them towards their rivals that excitedly buzzing around their commander, when Obolensky was no-where to be seen.

It took him a second, but he realized that they weren't stares of hatred or anger.

They were envious eyes.

He gave them a quiet, piteous smile before turning his attention back to his team.

"IOP wants to get the combat data straight from you rather than waiting for it to be processed through third party means." His dolls all frowned and seemed ready to complain, but he held up a single, authoritative hand to stop the grumbling.

"Ja, ja. Let's go ladies." 45 motioned for the echelon to move along with a casual wave.

"See you in a bit!"

"We'll share all the juicy details with the base after its all parsed."

"Nine, can you share the clip of my shot hitting the-"

His dolls filed out behind Viktor's team, still excitedly chatting away with one another, but 45 lingered behind. There was a glint in those amber eyes of hers that the commander found just the slightest bit unnerved.

"Commander, you should think about a reward for such stellar performance." 45 smiled wide, but something about it felt… off, "It's a commander's job to keep morale up, wouldn't you agree?"

"And what would you suggest, Forty-five?"

The T-doll quietly placed a finger upon her chin, a look of quizzical innocence that somehow did not match the doll's personality.

"Something ambitious- something _daring_." Again, that wry smile pulled onto the youthful features of 45 as she stared her commander down. It seemed like something was on the tip of her tongue-

And then the doll shrugged, chuckling to herself at the commander's confusion.

"See you, commander~" She gave a wave before dashing off.

Despite 45's confusingly cryptic statement, seeing his team's excitement was the breather he needed- a calming warmth before the storm that was going to batter him soon enough. With a deep breath, the commander slipped back into the observation room, finding that Viktor was already standing at attention before the gathered audience. The man shot the commander an impatient glance.

"My apologies for being late-"

"You are not late, Commander Obolensky merely wished to start the debriefing early, even without the combat data." Helianthus waved away the commander's concern, taking her seat once more, "We will commence the meeting once the data transfer begins."

"Ah! My additional materials-" The commander had let the data slip his mind for only a second, causing the man to curse quietly. He was too used to G36 catching what slipped through the cracks in his memory.

"I believe that they were delivered through the secured network earlier, commander." One of the IOP representatives spoke in a bored monotone. The man was swiping up on a tablet, eyes barely registering what was on it. He leaned over, showing the tablet to the cat-eared IOP representative. Quiet murmurs drifted throughout the room as both the commander and Obolensky were stuck standing at attention.

"How could this happen?" Viktor lamented quietly while the audience was distracted, "You must have cheated." His words growled low, clearly intended for only the commander, however, Viktor's obvious misgivings were being picked up by all in the room.

"I did everything as instructed by command. You simply made tactical errors." The commander shrugged before taking a moment to look over his tablet, swiping between the combat data and what he was going to present.

"Bullshit! My-"

"The data is in. Commander of the op-for, walk through your strategies." Helianthus crossed her arms, face a mask of contempt that the commander just could not understand. Still, he had to comply, regardless of how Helianthus prematurely judged him.

"My unit reconnoitered the area before the battle, gaining visual map data of the area as well as possible points of engagement." The commander began, pulling up the exact same data he had shown his dolls in the planning stages, "They extrapolated with what data they had available for the operation and determined that an ambush would be the best course of action-"

"Was there a reason why you sent an under-equipped force?" Helian seemed to speak for the rest of the G&K command staff and IOP representatives, whom all continued to remain silent during her interruption.

"Yes, ma'am." The commander motioned for those in the meeting to look at their tablets as he drew attention to the pre-mission meeting- to the data on his doll's mind-maps. "I have been pushing irregular skirmishing and guerrilla tactics training for my teams using a memory fragmentation exploit. Given that most dolls only know or have the capacity for static formations, I used this exercise as a test-bed for their non-standard tactics."

While the commander was expecting the IOP representatives to but in once again, it seemed like everyone was thoroughly enthralled by the data. Even Kryuger nodded slightly, quietly tapping his way through the document.

His rival seemed to seethe under the impressions from command, and was more than ready to try and blurt his piece, but he wouldn't get the chance. It was not the place of the loser to interrupt until they were acknowledged… Viktor understood at least _that_.

"As you can see by the data provided, given a field-command model doll, an echelon is capable of advanced maneuvers without the oversight of a human commander, even with fragments of a tactics process." There was murmuring between the two IOP representatives, and it had caused the commander to pause somewhat. Still, he cleared his throat to get their attentions before continuing, "Specifically, T-doll units that have significantly built rapport working under a specific commander appear capable of inferring and extrapolating a commander's intent, and in some cases, operate more efficiently than if they were under direct command."

He again directed their attention to the display. In his mind, he praised G36's precise note-taking and ability to put together all of their abstract conversation into a visual format.

"As you can see by the display from the pre-mission planning, the dolls were able to combine their processing power to formulate a battle-plan-" The commander watched as the different permutations of the plan cycled by- at least a thousand variations, all stemming from the initial idea, in his opinion a treasure-trove of data accrued from his doll's neural clouds.

Command remained silent, but one of the IOP representatives, that slovenly cat-eared woman, was whispering to the other.

"How much of it was your input?" Kryuger surprised everyone by being the first to not go through the mouthpiece that was Helianthus, "The method of combat reeks of the Urals."

"I gave my echelon all of the known information and ruleset, as well as abstract parameters that ran contrary to their standard deployment protocols. Functionally, I handed command over to the command doll UMP-forty-five, and from there the team computed their own tactics." The commander admitted readily, "Though, to reiterate, my dolls have been undergoing non-standard training under my personal supervision."

Again, there was more quiet muttering amongst the top brass. To say that he wasn't nervous was a lie. If anything, the commander wished that he had G36 or FAL at his side to help steady him.

"Obolensky, you are dismissed." Kryuger waved Viktor off, not even bothering to check the man's data.

"Mr. Kryuger, sir. Surely you-"

"I said you are dismissed, Viktor." The CEO growled, pointing towards the door.

The commander's rival let out something akin to a growl cut with a burp of disgust. It was an awful sound that perfectly encapsulated what Viktor must have been feeling in that moment. However, the commander could not spare a second look at his would-be-rival, as soon Kryuger's glare was transfixed upon him, demanding his utmost attention.

"Commander. Given your prior experience, why did you see fit to train _androids_ in such a manner?" Kryuger's glare sharpened as he folded his hands before his face, leaning in upon the table.

"Because they are my soldiers, and I want them to succeed in situations where I may not be available to directly commander them."

"You are aware that the dolls you are provided are G and K property, correct? _You _do not own them."

"They are under my command, and therefore I am responsible for them." The commander's response was a tad bit harsher than he wanted to direct towards his _boss_, but it was too late to walk back his comments. So he doubled down.

"Even more so if they are not my property, I wish to return G and K property in better condition than when it arrived at my base."

A single, pelting laugh caused everyone at Kryuger's table to jump.

"Tell me, commander. What is it that you hope to accomplish by showing us this data?"

What was it he was trying to show them?

What _was_ he trying to show them?

His dolls- his girls- were more than just androids? That they were machines that were growing and learning- or was it just the illusion that they were? That...

"That I am a superior commander to Viktor Obolensky." The commander coldly called out, "That if I was giving the same resources as he, I would be able to conduct successful operations against Sangvis Ferri instead of nonsensical patrols in the green zone and logistical mission. I wish to be placed in a sector closer to the frontlines."

"Lucky you, then." Kryuger boomed, grinning wide. It was not a joyous expression; the commander saw it as the expression a wolf would make when it finally cornered its prey.

"There is an opening in the 'S' sector. Considering your attention to data as well as your soldiers, I feel you will succeed where your predecessor failed."

Helianthus looked as if she were ready to object, but Kryuger's words were absolute.

"You are dismissed, commander. The details of your transfer will be sent to you once you return to your headquarters."

"Thank you, sir." The commander saluted, turning on a heel for the door, trying his damnedest to not take a second glance back.

No, there was no point looking back. The only thing he could do now was hurry back to his echelon and make sure they were prepped for departure.

"Always vigilant, always ready." He repeated to himself, trying to stave off the chill that clung to him in the halls.

* * *

When the door quietly slid shut, not a single person struck up conversation. To an outside observer, it would look as if everyone was absorbed in the data, but in reality, no one dared speak their mind- rather, no one yet dared voice their objections to Kryuger's sudden decision until the CEO had settled himself once more.

"That man is responsible for the lawlessness in the Urals. How do we know that all of this 'training' he's giving is not an eventual subversion of the T-doll's programming- of IOP's protocols?" One of the IOP representatives was the first to break the silence.

"It is a possibility," Helianthus quietly plucked her monocle from her face, wiping it down as she spoke, "but I believe this is less some grand conspiracy and more an overly ambitious commander."

"He is a criminal-"

"_Was_." Kryuger looked over the tablet once again, "Judge by the data, not by the nature of the man." His voice raised to that of a thunderous rumble. A silence washed back over the room, held firmly in place by Kryuger's complete authority. When all had calmed themselves, the CEO turned towards the cat-eared IOP representative who had remained silent during the whole proceedings.

"What are your opinions, Persica?"

"His theory and evidence, as amateurish and redundant as they are, only further prove my data." Persica spoke up, her grin wide, "The Anti-Rain Team is completely capable of self-sufficient action without a human commander."

The smug grin on her face only widened as Helianthus and Kryuger quietly whispered to one another.

"But he shows promise." Persica paused, "_If_ they were to need a commander, I believe that he would be sufficient."

"That settles it. Helian, cancel the rest of the trials." Kryuger stood, slinging his uniform jacket over a shoulder while turning his back to the complaints. "We must ensure every piece at our disposal is in place. I would remind you all of our mission." His words were sobering, bringing everything back into focus.

"Helian, I want you to proceed to Sector "S" as well, and begin conducting intel sweeps with the commander's assistance."

"S-sir!"

"We will no longer just be holding the cordon." Kryuger cracked his knuckles, "It's high time we start taking the fight to SF properly."


	13. Chapter 9: 404 - UMP9

The ring on her finger was non-standard equipment- it wasn't ever a part of any model T-doll that she could trace her core to. For all intents and purposes, it was an utterly pointless piece of fashion.

And yet, every time UMP-9 moved to remove it, something in her digimind stopped her. What harm was it doing by staying there? It didn't interfere with her range of motion, it didn't lower her efficiency in any way. It was just a small, polygonally cut piece of silver that simply sat beneath her gloves anyways. Yes, there was no harm in it, so on her finger it stayed.

But there were times where she wondered about it. It was always during those quiet times, when the team was laying low in one of their safe houses, when no one had the heart or the patience to talk with each other. Sometimes, 9 found herself laying back and simply staring at it in the flickering lamplight. It was on her fourth finger- the ring finger. A band of silver… according to her database, western traditions stated that it was a symbol of an eternal bond. A promise.

And yet she couldn't figure out where it came from. None of her memories noted it, none of her physical dairy entries mentioned it, either. It was like it had simply… appeared on her. Gently she twisted it against her finger, feeling its tightness tug at her epidermal sensors.

"Nine, we have a job." UMP-45 announced, standing by the doorway to what 9 would consider her "room".

"Coming, sis." She pulled her gloves on faster than usual-

Like she was hiding her hands from her sister. Why, she couldn't say… something in her programming whispered for her to keep it a secret. No matter how many times she tried to defrag, it never went away, so it _had_ to be a process that was vital to her digimind.

It was why she hadn't asked her sister about if she had forgotten something.

"Smash and grab mission." 45 spoke to her trailing sister. They were making for their armory, apparently there was going to be no formal briefing.

"Just the two of us?"

"No need for Eleven and Four-sixteen to deploy if it'll save us some money on supplies." 45 grinned, proud of her frugality.

416 would call it stinginess, but it was all a matter of opinion now, wasn't it?

"Light load, three days rations in case, a spare ruck for the goods." 45 had thrown on her jacket as she spoke, collecting the supplies she would need.

"What are we grabbing?"

45 shrugged, though her voice chimed through the sister's private network._ 'Something that Griffin wants but can't have.'_

It was a contradiction the piqued the curiosity. Technically 404 were mercenaries… but they rarely went _against_ Griffin. Not only that, but 45 tended to charge more to those who were opposed to Griffin's direct wishes.

Well, direct wishes when Griffin had them. If they never knew that something was missing, then they couldn't miss it, right?

_'Right'._ 45's voice chimed in 9's head. The younger sister frowned, establishing her administrative privileges and blocking 45 out from monitoring her thought processes. The first few times 45 had done it, it had been funny, if not slightly endearing. Now it was starting to feel like 45 was poking around, searching for something inside of 9's digimind.

45 snickered to herself, giving 9 a warm smile, perhaps as an apology for the intrusion.

_'It's a quick and quiet mission.'_ 45's sisterly facade had melted down into her business mode, _'The target is in SF territory, though it doesn't seem to be any particular Ringleader's turf. Just a quick grab of something left behind, no one needs to know we were there.'_

_'Got it! With the money we make from this one, can we buy better beds?'_

_'For which safe house?'_ 45 mused through the network, _'We've only got ten of them_._'_

_'All of them!'_

Even as the sisters bantered back and forth like they always had, something in the back of 9's digimind told her to remain on guard. The trust that she so implicitly placed in her sister had been eroding away, bit by bit, and yet 9 couldn't explain why.

"We're heading out on a patrol. We'll be back." 45 waved dismissively back to 416, who seemed somewhat surprised that the two were leaving alone.

The secrecy of the mission from 416 and 11 seemed suspicious as well. Figuring out 45's schemes though required a great deal more cunning that 9 had the capability for; where she was instinctual and reactive, 45 was calculating and devious.

It was why the sisters worked so well together. It was why… It was why… It was why…

For a split second as the pair ascended the ladder out of the bunker, 9's digimind faltered. It felt like a cold breeze had run through her sensor system, but she shook it from her circuits. The more she thought, the more it happened. Solution: do not think so much.

9's "solution" lasted about as long as it took them to get a few miles from the bunker. The march pace they maintained was made bearable by small talk and sharing what they would do with the cut of the mission profits, but the talk always tickled that little electric itch in her mind.

She had to ask at least one thing.

"Why are we hiding the mission from Four-sixteen?"

Without missing a beat, nor giving even a hint of being startled, 45 shrugged.

"There's no telling how she would react if she knew we were going against Griffin."

It was infuriatingly simplistic of an answer, but one that seemingly satisfied the logical part of 9's programming.

But the increasingly illogical side of her digimind rankled under the dismissive answer.

"Why ask, Nine? You've never questioned our sisterly bonding time before." 45's voice module was pitch perfect in its neutrality… but 9 could feel that there was something else behind the voice of her sister. Inwardly, she checked her permissions; 45 was still locked out-

"I figured she would be more upset being left cooped up in a bunker." 9 spoke in half truths, enough to fool her own empathetic processes. She was not as adept at controlling her own systems, but she certainly had a greater understanding of her emotion module than 45.

Her older sister chortled, much to 9's relief.

"This is a mission that requires tact and restraint, Nine." 45 began to imitate the cold demeanor of their team-mate, riling herself up as a irritated cat would, "I am the perfect weapon, it would be more efficient if we eliminated the surrounding patrols."

9 giggled slightly. It was a logical assessment of 416- her programming favored quick, decisive, and violent action…

"What's our ETA, sis?"

"Current march pace… six hours."

"Let's pick up the pace then!" 9 hopped and skipped her way in front of her sister, warming the motors in her legs in the same way a human might stretch themselves.

"Wait... Nine-"

She took off, pushing through the trail with the speed of a human sprinter yet with the casual grace of a dancer. It was something she needed, even as it stressed her systems slightly, the sudden sprint brought a wave of relief. The farther she got away from 45, the lighter 9 felt. Was this what humans called catharsis?

The questions without answers had begun ticking away in her digimind again but this time, with each bounding leap 9 took, they felt less and less burdensome.

_'Nine, slow down!'_ 45's emotion module had pinged with a sense of nervousness, something that 45 never expressed. 9 giggled over the network.

_'Come on sis, I know you can keep up! Shake the rust off!'_

9 had barely managed to keep herself together for the last half an hour, and she had six more ahead. Somehow 9 dreaded that more than the mission and, unfortunately, the quicker she got there did not necessarily mean that she could avoid the claws sinking into her digimind. Her pace slowed, letting 45 catch up with that frustrated scowl stamped upon her face.

"Who are you calling rusty?" The the whir of 45's exo-frame stressed to a whine every now and again; a reminder of the tools she needed to keep up performance-wise. The frustration in the older twin's voice was enough to send shivers through 9; she had forgot about 45's self-consciousness for being an older model…

But 45 smiled. A true, honest smile. 9 could tell by the way that the sides of her lips imperfectly moved, just slightly out-of-sync.

"Sorry, sis." 9 smiled back, hiding just that slightest bit of an electric pang in her emotion module. That something chipping away at her came from her emotions, and she knew it was something negative… but if she couldn't figure out what it was, she couldn't partition it, she couldn't delete it. The last thing she wanted to do was question her sister- to even feel anger or hatred for 45. At least… at least what she felt certainly wasn't hate.

That was an emotion that 9 at least had plenty of experience with.

* * *

The thing that 9 hated the most about Sangvis units, and she had a lot to hate, was that they always came in packs. While they were less efficient than a well trained human soldier on an individual level, their weaknesses were usually outweighed by their sheer numbers.

It was a double-edged sword, trying to sneak through them. More active units meant greater chance of being picked up by_ something's_ sensors, but at the same time, the generic SF units lacked the refined dexterity that a single, well-tuned doll had. They clumsily stomped their way around pre-defined patrol routes, making them easy to detect and predict.

9 slipped through the dark, no louder than a mouse as she crept low through the thicket. A direct route into the objective was the safest- though it ran intersecting through two patrol routes. They would leave a trail through the undergrowth as well, but 9 doubted that the Rippers on patrol had the capacity to detect, let alone extrapolate the intent even if they did find the evidence. Once 9 put eyes on the dilapidated wooden cabin, she matched it against the satellite image provided to them before heading back for 45, though this time she decided on a calculated risk.

The timing of the patrols was machine precise. If she did her computation correctly, she could slip onto one of the patrol's routes in between the pathing units with none being the wiser, dodging back onto a new trail back to her sister.

45 was crouched low, hidden among the brush. 9 silently gestured, indicating the path that they would use for infiltration, pantomiming the instructions rapidly. As 45 had instructed, they had "gone dark", not using a secured neural network; for even a secured signal was still detectable if they didn't have the right mask over it.

Her sister nodded, motioning to move to the next stage of the plan. They could slip in, but there was no backup plan after that. 45 countered that they would need all their options available.

Specifically, they needed a local closed-network signal to mask as, which meant finding and hacking a lone SF unit, or tackling a patrol so that they could gain access. Of the units that 9 had spied, they only had the firepower to take on a Ripper patrol. Luckily for the pair, these Sangvis dolls were not the more modern units.

Still… Rippers moved fast and erratic once they were alerted to an enemy. That was the trick- get most of them before they were alerted. The pair slipped into position alongside one of dirt trails, waiting for the clockwork timing of the patrol. Standard ambush and blackout procedure.

The sisters selected their targets.

The first second was the most valuable- 45 and 9 could get at least two each within the cyclic rate of their weapons and the targeting acquisition of of their imprint. The last one would need to be dropped withing the next two seconds- before it rerouted its alert signal past 45's containment.

Easy enough, if she were operating at full capacity.

9 locked up a moment, her perception of the world stuttering as several programs simultaneously began to run in preparation, straining her processors. Calculations, pattern recognition and prediction, data prep for the targeting network, not to mention she also had to partition off some virtual memory to lend 45 so that she could get the bug programmed… all to be executed within the microsecond when they connected their network.

9 had neither a poetic process, nor had an artistic program in her library... but even in her memory-stressed state, 9 could imagine herself as a bow, tensed to the point of cracking-

The signal impulse of 45 connecting to her- the flood of data from both of them crashing together in a flurry over the neural-network.

The perfectly synchronize snap-shooting belayed the absolute chaos unfolding in their network. The first two Rippers collapsed in the first burst- peak performance. The second bursts out were not as precise- not _perfectly_ clean, but the margin of error was small enough that the damage was still enough to disable the Ripper dummies.

The fifth began evasive maneuvers, moving to break line of sight through the trees. 9 pursued, trying to maintain the firing angle.

_Two seconds._

9 squeezed off a sub-optimal shot that struck the Ripper center-mass, but the thing kept moving. She pushed herself at the upper limit of her motorized muscles. Tracking- no she needed to deflection shoot-

_Three seconds._

The cyclic rate was fast enough that she could get two… maybe three shots in the fraction that she needed-

It was a mix of her aiming imprint, as well as a predictive process from 45. Two rounds out.

The Ripper's path had not changed. It was making for the shortest possible route to break the line of fire which, ironically, put it in the path of 9's bullets. It tumbled and rolled, thudding against a tree as a dead shell.

She put two more rounds into it- one through where the signal emitter would be and another through the primary processing unit, rendering the thing unrecoverable. By the time she returned to her sister, 45's cleanup was complete as well- they had until the patrol's route had finished and updated before the SF mainframe detected the error and sent out an alert. They dragged the shells off of the trail, trying to cover their tracks as much as possible.

_'Forty-seven minutes. Plenty of time.'_ 45 seemingly relaxed now that they had the local SF signal to disguise their network traffic.

_'Easy-peasy!'_ 9 downplayed the amount of stress she was under, giving her sister a blisteringly confident smile. In actuality, the stress of it nearly caused 9's processors to overheat. Quietly she began to shut off programs she didn't need, not having the time to cool off as they pushed back into the woods.

9 leapt and skipped ahead of her sister, keeping up their previous pace, but a halting command forced her to slow.

_'We have time, Nine. Stop pushing yourself.'_ 45 chided like the overbearing older sister she was. Apparently she was still remotely monitoring 9.

_'The sooner we get done the sooner we get home.'_ Came her natural response, but something with it caused her to glitch.

_Home-_

Even though she was ending processes left and right, even though she was shunting 45's programs back over to her sister, there was an immense pressure in 9's digimind that was slowing her down.

She couldn't trace where the thought was coming from- which part of her programming was causing her to fixate upon it. Quietly she put herself on auto-pathing to trace her original route to the objective as she turned her attention inward.

A memory fragment was lodged within her primary directives, sparking like a frayed wire. The stress of the last flood on her digimind must have dislodged it. She'd isolate it for defragging later...

_Home._

It sent a shiver through her digimind as she placed the partition. Her hand reflexively tightened its grip around her weapon- hyper aware to the ring upon her finger. This fragment… it had something to do with that mysterious silver band.

_'What's our ETA at this pace?'_ 45's ping tore 9's attention away. In a panic she ran the numbers.

_'Ten minutes.'_ Even just the process of running predictions caused that fragment to stand out more and more. She mulled over whether or not to ask 45… but if it was connected to the ring, it was a secret to be squirreled away.

_'We should pick up the pace. Have you cooled yourself?'_

_'Yeah. I think I'm fine.'_

45 had sent a permission request to check 9's digimind. Quicker than lightning, 9 covered up the fragment, giving it a redundant name and burying it amongst her other vital programs. 45's presence gently slipped into her digimind.

_'You still have a lot concurrently running.'_

_'I-I can go faster. It's when I have to do silent running mode at three-quarter capacity that I overheat.'_ 9 pouted, making her sister smile sympathetically; 45 did put a lot of stress upon her, after all.

Her sister's presence slithered away, letting 9 breath once again- metaphorically of course. 45 may be able to get into 9's digimind, but 9 certainly knew ways to manipulate her sister as well- _without_ having to tinker with her programming.

_'We might need to pick up the pace then. We don't know how long it will take to ID the objective.'_

_'We don't know how hard it will be to egress.'_ 9 countered, pressing upon 45's sudden timidness for hurting her sister, _'Give me one more minute to sort myself in case we need to do that again, then we can speed up. Please?'_

45 nodded quietly, the tense rigidity in her movements relaxing somewhat. She was still alert -still suspicious- but 9's argument was perfectly logical. They needed to be ready for anything.

One last time, 9 turned inward. She traced the fragment as best she could. Its neural path was obscured, dipping in and out of the web that was her primary directives. It was entwined- impossible to completely root out. Whatever it originally was had been clipped and hidden… but why? Something related to home-

She shook herself from it, despite the haunting nature of the discovery. A self-diagnostic run later would help, but that was for later. Right now, they had a mission to accomplish.

_'Let's go.'_ 9 picked up her pace to a quiet jog. While she didn't have full capability right now, she still could give the illusion of it until she recovered. As much as she wanted the objective to simple be sitting right out in the open on a table or something, experience had told her nothing they were hired on for was ever simple.

Life was never "simple", even for a fully-functional T-doll.

And 9 was beginning to suspect that she was malfunctioning.


	14. Chapter 10: 404 - UMP45

45's presence in the network made 9 hyper-aware- paranoid even. It was understandable, after all 45 had put an immense amount of stress upon her sister, so any tap on the neural-network was met with a sudden nervousness from 9's emotion module.

It made 45 all the more aware of how she simply could not stop herself from harming her sister.

She let 9 lead the way until they had come to the target cabin. Damaged, burnt out on one side, clear signs of conflict. Their approach was swift and silent, slipping into the shattered remains of someone's home. 9 bounced with curiosity as she moved to clear the decrepit cabin, slipping in and out of the bedrooms and side rooms before joining 45 in the remains of the den. A decaying carpet had long been pulled aside to reveal a large secured hatch set into the floor. Signs of a forced entry- energy burns through the bolting and lock. 45 hefted the thing aside, revealing a ladder-shaft into the dark.

"This wasn't in the mission specifications." 45 hesitated, combing the data that was given to her. Smash and grab from a Sangvis facility was what had been expected, but this was a G&K secured command bunker.

"Do we have any map data?" 9 frowned as well, though 45 knew it was more because her sister hated going underground. To answer her sister, 45 pulled her weapon-light free from its rail mounting, clicking it on as she descended.

It was clear that this bunker had been compromised just from the emergency escape tunnel's damaged hatch, but as 45 moved through the inky dark of the hall it bottomed out into, there were clear signs of combat- scorch marks, bullet holes, the occasional shattered remains of Sangvis or Griffin doll.

And blood. Dried, dated to a year or two ago. It trailed back the way 45 had come- to the escape hatch. Signs from when Sangvis Ferri had begun to step up their attacks.

"Sis. I found something."

45 turned back to see that 9 had pulled a secured panel free, revealing an automated power control unit.

"Cover the hall." 45 ordered as she inspected it. It was a a post-war design, old, but it had use still. 45 mused at the irony of her statement as she flicked the power switch back and forth with little effect.

"Either the backups are dead, or the breakers were tripped." 45 sighed as she picked up the panel that 9 had threw on the ground. On the inside of it was the circuitry map, and rapidly she deciphered where the lines lead to the circuit breaker.

"Sit tight here and hold the entrance. I'll ping you to flip the APC's backups when I've got them."

"We should go together." 9 frowned, reattaching her flashlight to her weapon rail.

"It will be faster if we split up once we have some light."

"But-"

"No buts. Honestly Nine, you've been questioning orders a lot lately."

That accusation made 9 lock up, her eyes wide in fear despite 45 not showing any outwards signs of being upset about it. 45 shook her head while trying to reassure her sister, "Just sit tight, and flip the switch when I say so."

"I don't like this." 9 mumbled, shrinking down into a readied crouch by the power unit, but she stayed. That was all 45 could ask for, right now.

In her head, 45 pulled the circuitry map up, matching it against what she was seeing as she traced the lines through the hallways. The silence, normally something 45 took solace in, held an eerie, almost crushing stillness to it. Like everything had frozen in time when the power went out. The occasional doll body laying within the hall didn't help that feeling, either.

45 paused for only a second to run a quick inspection scan on one of a unit face-first in the hall. Vespid. Old model like the Rippers outside, some of the first generation ones from the Butterfly Incident.

No outward sign of damage, powered down. Most likely abandoned down here once their mission had been accomplished. It must have been a surprise attack, considering the bunker hadn't been locked down fully. None of the blast-doors in the main halls were closed, and the amount of resistance put up by the bunker's T-dolls seemed meager at best with how _few_ damaged Vespids were in the hallways. There was an urge to try and hack the thing, figure out just what exactly had happened down here when the sudden realization struck her-

This reeked of a Sangvis Ringleader attack. Best leave it lay, lest she trip the attentions of whoever had done this.

The lines took her past a sealed armory door, a dormitory wing, the cafe entrance…

All hauntingly familiar.

She wasn't even checking the circuit map anymore, operating off pure memory as she made for the stairwell down to the bunker's lower facilities.

It was almost exactly the same. Down to the placement of the security blast-doors.

Air filtration, water and waste recycling, generator room, all of the facility's life support systems were laid out the same as before- albeit they had a lot less damage than the ones 45 was observing now. Scorch marks pocked the turbines, some sections melted through completely. Grumbling, she checked the backup batteries to find that they still had some power left.

Flip the breakers, make sure power is only being routed to where they needed it.

'_Get the hallway's power now.'_

With a low, droning electric hum the hallways lit with the deep, rusty red of the emergency backup. Bright enough to see on low-light settings, but not enough to cast away the haunting feeling in the back of her digimind. Eeriness, unease, fear... those were all emotions meant for humans- to caution them of potential danger to their frail, fleshy bodies.

It made no sense for a weapon to have such paranoid self-preservation instincts. It made equally less sense why she had this haunting feeling- an echo in her digimind built up from countless memory fragments. It made her emotion module pulse and spark with guilt. 45 found that her grip on her weapon had tightened so hard that it was shaking.

Passing the dormitories, 45 found herself standing before the door labeled "Three"; the monitor that would have displayed the occupants long dead.

They _had_ to conduct a search, after all there was no telling exactly where the objective was. With trembling hand, 45 reached out for the door's manual latch.

Their dorm room- every member of the team had added furniture that the commander had ordered for them. It was mismatched jumble of conflicting aesthetic taste, but it was _theirs_. Everything earned from their missions. Comfort. Ease. Safety. Ho-**[redacted]**

45 twitched slightly, her thought process under control once again as she placed both hands on the latch and yanked.

The door roughly slid open, trying to resist 45 throwing her full weight into it.

A dusty, concrete grey room. Ammo tins and cardboard boxes stacked to form makeshift tables and beds.

What was she expecting? Of course this wasn't _that_ base. Of course this wasn't-

'_Sis, I think I found the command room!'_

45 turned without batting an eye, making for where she guessed 9 was, and sure enough, the layout of this bunker was similar. 9 was poking about a heavy blast door that undoubtedly lead to one of the most secure rooms in the facility.

The thing was sealed tight, security bolting having been activated from the inside; the only significantly locked door they had seen so far. Surface damage from Sangvis energy weapons- as well as what appeared to be an attempt to burn through the bolts, but none had done much besides superficial marring.

"The backup power is on." 9's curious expression was lit by the dull glow of the emergency monitor, "Want me to double check the base's systems?"

"No." The last thing 45 wanted was for 9 to poke around. Sure, 45 had extracted those memories from her during the reset and subsequent digimind maintenance, but she certainly had her suspicions that the wipe had not cut _everything _from 9.

45 pulled her neural jack out, making sure to run it through her external firewall first. Just because it was a Griffin system didn't mean that Sangvis Ferri hadn't left some devious presents behind. 45 ran through all of the Griffin security keys she had, taking what she knew of the operating system and the security programs to simply brute-force the password. 45 resisted the urge to tap 9 for more processing power, instead concentrating what spare she had. The desire to speed this up stemmed from an emotion, not because it was the most efficient option. It was a feeling of vulnerability that 45 hated- sitting there on the floor in meatspace with systems stuttering and freezing up as she moved about in her digimind like a firefighter trying to put out sparks. It always was a constant reminder just how old her hardware was.

The pressure in her digimind let up the instant the bolts in the door gave way with an echoing thud. Gears within the door struggled to move the massive metal plates with what little power was left, but 9 wedged a crowbar into the gap, leveraging the thing open as 45 packed away her gear.

Her sister moved into the dark first, weapon-light sweeping throughout the room before freezing, gun trained on two dark silhouettes. It was the sense of alarm that had 45 raise her weapon in an instant as well.

Two Griffin T-dolls sat collapsed side-by-side against the back wall, hands held with one another in a final sign of empathy. They were powered down, awaiting a command unit to wake them up- assuming they had any power left. They must have been trapped down in complex when the SF presence had been stronger.

"A PPK and a MP-forty." 9 wondered aloud, "More of our German cousins."

"Leave them." 45 commanded. It wasn't like 9 could wake them, anyways- only 45 had the command line for it…

But she didn't need 9 guilt-tripping her into waking them. Besides, they could only serve to compromise the mission. In fact-

45's hands clenched her weapon, automatically sweeping over the deactivated dolls when 9's back turned.

It was one of her primary directives, after all: follow all _**[redacted]**_ mission parameters.

Though…

The convenient gap in her programming gave her the flexibility to deny a client's more… ruthless objectives.

45 fought her programming, lowering her weapon back down before an unchecked impulse forced her to pull the trigger. _She_ was in charge of herself. No one else could force her otherwise- and if they did, _they _would be the first ones that 45 would test her autonomy on once she regained herself.

"Was this supposed to be a command center?" 9's curiosity had her poking through some of the debris, lifting up a G&K branded clipboard to what dim light the emergency systems had sparked.

"Probably." 45 ran a quick tertiary scan of the room and all of it's frightening similarities to what she knew. Still, curiosity drove her to investigate further. Apparently G&K liked to build their bunkers and bases in a standardized pattern.

"The emergency backups are missing." 9 pointed to where the the bank of external drives _would_ have been in a normal command center. The rack was, of course, empty.

"The drive we need might be in here somewhere. We'll thorough search here and if nothing turns up we'll move on."

"Wouldn't be easier if we-"

45's sharp glare cut her sister off. She knew what 9 was going to say even without the thought-process tap.

'_Wouldn't be easier if we ask those dolls?'_

It certainly _would _be easier. It would also create a loose end. Then 45 _would_ have to pull the trigger on them.

The sisters shifted through the clutter, each taking a different section of the room. 9 was being timid now, trying to avoid having 45 snap at her again, and for some reason it was making 45's emotion module pulse uncomfortably. A line traced from something behind that censored firewall in her digimind was sending signals through. With each dull throb, it drove 45 closer and closer to what she _wanted_ to say but her programming kept her from.

"I'm sorry, Nine." It felt like the words had be preprogrammed into her voice modulator, ready to leap out despite all of 45's attempts to curtail them. 9's sulking had stopped as she turned her curiosity to 45's surprise declaration.

"What for?"

_For many things that you will never know._

"For snapping at you." A tiny bit relief cooled some of 45's systems… but not nearly enough.

"It's okay." 9 turned back to checking filing cabinets.

_Is it okay?_

"..." 45 could only turn back to the search. It felt as if 9 was casting her glances, but every time 45 looked up, it was clear her sister was deep in the search.

"Think we can rip out the RAM from this console for our other systems?"

"Nine, no impact-"

"We just make it look like scavengers came through. No big deal." The logic that 9 spun was very… _unlike_ 9… but she had made an excellent point. This was an opportunity to scavenge the more… proprietary repair components they needed. Still, 45 welcomed the small talk, taking the opportunity to ease the tension she felt.

"Fine. We'll do the armory afterwards."

"What about the kitchen?" 9 had already downed one of her ration packs earlier, and she seemed eager for another already, "Expired rations are no problem for us, after all."

"We'd never hear the end of it from Four-sixteen." 45 shrugged at her sister. Spoiled food was still biomatter that could be broken down for caloric energy- but for some reason dolls had been programmed with _human_ sensibilities.

"Oh, I know! '_The caloric intake is inefficient to run my energy conversions.'_" 9 mimicked 416 as best as she could, perhaps delighting in the levity she clearly missed.

"She has a point, expired food is less efficient." 45 shrugged, inspecting the command console. Back at the old base, it was where G36 did most of the base's data-management. If there was no external backup drive that they could make away with, diving the base's systems could work as well- it was just far more difficult. Especially considering there was very limited power in which to even run the damn computer.

45 sighed, a breathlessly deep and irritable one at that. Data extraction missions were always such a pain. Even worse were mission objectives that made 45 a hypocrite to her own standard operating procedure.

"Nine, find the room's APC and route power here."

"What? O-okay." The change of 45's mind certainly took 9 by surprise, but she leapt to it anyways while 45 muddled with her console's settings. The little notebook of a computer was puny in comparison to the power of her digimind, but she could at least shunt programs over to it and lessen the stress on her own processors. She tapped away, the more variables she could cut from the cracking program, the quicker it could work- perhaps if it were efficient enough, she could even run it off of her console instead of herself.

"Sis… um." 9 hovered by the power unit, hand reaching out for it as she spoke, "Are you sure? We still have time."

"I'm sure." 45's words were blunt as she continued to tap away. She had had enough of this place and the echoes it constantly pounded into her head. It felt like every minute longer she spent in this bunker, the more invisible hands kept pounding away at the partition in the back of her mind. They could not get out of this place any sooner.

The console's motherboard let out a beep as power to the room was restored. 45 quietly connected her console before running her neural jack through her dummy firewall, all the while 9 stared at her with a mix of concern and… if 45's empathy program wasn't glitching again, what appeared to be frustration? 9 certainly had something on her mind but refused to voice it, and right now 45 didn't have the memory to spare in cracking 9's permissions again to see. She bristled slightly under her sister's gaze until, finally, she had enough.

"Nine, go check the armory and see if there's anything we can use left. If it's locked just wait there until I get into the systems to unlock it."

"Wait… what?"

"Down the hall, left at the third intersection then past the cafe. I marked it." 45 shared the bunker's map data with her sister, making sure to highlight the armory bright and bold- to distract 9 from poking her nose anywhere else. 45 refrained from slaving the order with the command module, for now at least.

"But you'll be vulnerable _here_." 9 planted herself further.

"I'll be fine." 45 grumbled, trying to recall every last string of G&K security code she could, "Go salvage what we can, because there might not be time afterwards to do so. It's just a waste of time if you're sitting here."

Clearly 9 did not agree with the downplaying of 45's safety, her cheeks puffed in a defiant frown- she was _daring_ 45 to use the command module on her. What 9 got instead, was a deep sigh and a pained smile as 45 turned towards her.

"Please, Nine. Trust me, I don't like sitting catatonic either." 45 spun her console's screen to 9, showing her sister the program that she was cooking up. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll try to make it so I can offload it to the console as soon as possible and join you. Okay?"

The way that 9 glared at the small computer felt like she didn't trust the thing- a silly notion given that it was a tool that couldn't react to her scrutiny.

Also a silly thing, considering how alike a doll was to a computer.

Except a computer didn't have to deal with annoying add-ons such as an emotion module, or preservation programming, or primary digimind directives. No, sometimes it felt like 45 would simply have enjoyed life as a computer.

"But that isn't life, is it?" 45 mumbled to herself, running through lines and lines of code, "But what is life for a T-doll?"

It was an argument that she could never answer. Her self-preservation programming would state that 'life' is the opposite of 'death'- death being a final state of no backups, no dummies to place her mindmap into.

But even then- if dummies of her exact model existed, could one not pose that since they existed, UMP-45 would not be 'dead'? The logic in her digimind proposed that she, _this_ UMP-45, would indeed be dead, her memory fragments and individual unit quirks that made her a unique model

The final death- the death that dolls rarely suffered- was the complete loss of both frame and mindmap. If the digimind had not been backed up, or there _were _no backups that existed, then effectively the doll had died. What, then, was-

**[Do not think about it]**

_**[for us, our body and our thoughts, that's all the treasures we have]**_

**[DO NOT THINK ABOUT IT]**

45 winced, a sharp pain stabbing from her emotion module that made even her epidermal sensors short-out and tingle. Something was battering on the partition in her long-term memory, wanting out into her digimind.

She snapped her console closed for a second, shaking herself down. Coding under pressure always did this to her digimind. The stresses to her systems 'springing leaks' so to speak.

'_Sis. The door to the armory is unlocked. I'm going to check it out.'_

'_I'm about to start. Be careful, Nine.'_

Her sister sent a pulse that felt like a quizzical giggle, like 9 didn't understand why 45 was being kind all of a sudden. Existential thoughts tended to remind the older twin of how horrible of a sister she really truly was.

45 sat cross-legged, leaning back against the command console before pulling her computer back onto her lap. Her connections were ready, the program was as best as she could do on the fly, the only thing she could do now was start it up.

She readied herself for the static, for the flood of data she would experience. Deep breaths did nothing for her physically, but for some reason, it eased her digimind as she began to settle in.

_**[even if it's a low life -a hated life- as long as you live, there are meanings.]**_

She ignored the ghost whispering from beyond the partition. She ignored the spasm that wracked her systems. She hit the _enter_ key on the console.

And cast her world into static.


	15. Chapter 11: 404 - UMP45

The brunt of the calculations had been completed, the runtime barely five minutes of 45 at full capacity. She shifted the majority of it over to the console, at least enough to get back the memory she needed to run some of her more advanced components. The dim red of the emergency lights winked back into existence as her senses returned.

The decryption programming was running well enough. It had fifteen more minutes, and 45 didn't want to feed it anymore calculations for fear of causing some unforeseen error. She removed the neural jack, bringing all of her processing back into meatspace.

'_Nine. Fifteen minutes.' _45's message pinged out over the network, but received only static in return. Instantly her weapon was in her hands as she pinged out again, this time with no message attached. It never echoed back, like throwing a bouncy-ball in a pool of mud. They were being jammed.

Movement from the hallway- multiple footsteps- _not_ 9's. With more care than usual, 45 silently slid herself to the doorway, using a pocket mirror the check the corner.

The Sangivs Vespid dolls that they had left in the hallway had reactivated.

45 must have tripped _some_ sort of trap- or perhaps it was the simple act of powering on the bunker… either way there was not even time to curse herself. A bolt of hot energy sparked down the hall, cracking and sizzling just past where she was peeking.

She cursed, readying her weapon. The enemy formed up into a loose group, all turning to advance on 45's position. It was an unrefined motion- they were operating on the most basic programming, but they had enough firepower among the group to be _somewhat_ concerning. Her primary directives were kicking in, that constant unwanted voice in the back of her digimind whispering to her like a devil on her shoulder.

**[Disengage/Retreat]** \- failure of mission - _NOT OPTION… _recalculate...

_Where is Nine?_

**[Engage targets/Aggress]** \- complete mission - risk frame damage/death - enemy efficiency sub-30%...

_What about Nine?_

**[Lock-down command room/Defend]** \- complete mission - no tactical options available… recalculate...

_WHERE IS MY SISTER?_

Her primary directive never acknowledged 9, but her emotion module did. The full scope of 45's combat processes flared to life as more and more of her RAM was allocated to them.

**[admin override] set new objective **_**[Find Nine]**_

Despite every bit of her primary directive fighting the change of her objectives, 45 used her emotion module to override them.

_**[Find Nine] - **_**[Engage targets/Aggress]**

She pushed herself forward, the UX exo-frame pushing her body's limits past its peak. She could see the barrels of the Vespid's weapons light the dim hallways with a shocking purple glow-

Programmed instinct told her to slide the last inch to cover, just an instant before bolts of energy lashed through the hallway. 45's exo-frame ground upon the floor as she slammed feet-first into the security blast-door's frame. Prone and on her back, she rolled to the side slightly for a firing angle.

45's first burst caught the closest Vespid center-mass, causing it to stumble forward through the doorway dead. But when there was one Sangvis unit, there was many. As bolt after bolt of burning energy began to rain down the hall, 45 managed to get two more bursts before the volume of fire picked up. She blindly dumped the remnant of her magazine through the doorway, hearing bullets find homes within Sangvis bodies.

They just kept marching their way through the kill-funnel, firing in an attempt to keep 45 pinned in place as they marched on her cover. It left her in an unsustainable situation- she had to disengage, but she couldn't go backwards and lock herself in the command room. She got to her feet, blindly firing a burst past the door to keep the Vespids from advancing too rapidly.

Three smoke grenades; light load was not meant for sustained combat. 45's tactical assessment program was screaming at her to break contact and retreat back to the command room.

_9 is in danger_. Her emotion module screamed back at the cold logic.

45 pitched the smoke through the doorway, the cylinder popping and hissing its contents into the stale air.

The bolts were still coming in erratically, with no pattern to discern other than they were all center-mass for an average sized target. 45 calculated a rough thirty-percent chance of being hit if she moved now- the best she'd get.

She dove for the smoke-choked threshold, as low and as fast as she could press herself.

Searing hot pain burned in 45's shoulder as a stray bolt struck the moment she leapt over the dead Vespid dummies, but she could not stop.

Purple-tinted flashes lit the grey haze every time a Vespid fired, giving 45 the perfect aim-point. Every burst of energy out was met with the suppressed cough of her UMP. Two Vespids crumpled to the floor before the rest of the formation had begun trying to track 45 through the smoke from her auditory cues.

Where they fired, she made sure wasn't. She had ten seconds of billow, and she used every precious tick of the clock to dance within the enemy's midst. Her bullets found Sangvis bodies until her magazine went dry and even then, her knife found synthetic flesh and circuitry. When everything went quiet, her tactical assessment program was still screaming for her to disengage despite standing triumphant over the dead husks.

Her left arm spasmed; motor control had dropped to sixty percent; still enough to change a magazine, though she felt a spark of frustration when the thing didn't perfectly seat in the magwell on the first try. An act she had previously honed to perfection, now reminding her of how she _used_ to be.

_Find Nine. Regroup._

She had heard that in times of extreme duress, humans tended towards "primal" reflexes. It was why human soldiers trained, to etch actions and tactics into that primal essence. For dolls, it was very much similar; extraneous process were idled in favor for those used for combat. What was her tactical assessment program if not a mock fight-or-flight response? The only difference being that 45 had full control of herself. She _chose_ which processes ran within her digimind.

45 shifted more processing away from her emotion module, as well as her artificial limbic programs. The "pain" of her shoulder dulled until it simply registered to her digimind as a malfunction.

_Find Nine. Regroup. Egress._

No intel on how many SF were in the bunker with them, and a 45 felt a pulse of hot shame through her systems. She had the opportunity to at least take a count of the Sangvis units in the halls, but she had disregarded them. To make matters worse, the enemy was operating with a different signal than the patrols outside. To dull the pangs of frustration and guilt, 45 lowered the settings on her emotion module, bringing her that step closer to pure automation. The threat assessment was unreliable.

Vespid model, outdated; reactivated from within the bunker… triggered by the power restoration, or the decryption of the command systems? The hypothesis she was cycling in her digimind was dropped the moment 45 came across another pack of Vespids. Their backs were turned to her, assault movements in a different direction; most likely 9's location.

Impulse made 45 raise her weapon, but she overrode the instinct to fire and slipped behind the pack. None of the assault rifle dolls had detected her- all of their sensors were focused on sweeping forwards. The things moved clumsily, trundling forward instead of moving with any sort of tactical sense.

A fleeting shadow passed the intersection before them, two loud coughs echoing in the dark as it slid by. The Vespids planted themselves in the middle of the hall to spit back rifle-fire as one of their number seized up and fell. Their reaction was off by a third of a second- 45 tuned herself based on that data. The last of her extraneous processes were shut down, she was fully in her combat setting.

45 slipped within optimal range the moment that the group shifted back into their stiff movement mode. Recoil control would be sub-optimal with her damaged arm, 45 shifted some of the parameters of her weapon imprint.

A burst of .45 ACP tore into the back of the rearmost Vespid. The shots climbed up the spinal column, the fourth bullet of the burst cracking the back of the Vespid's helmet, dropping it. 45 dove back into the shadows the moment the group planted themselves and their weapons swept her direction. Energy lashed out, but there was nothing there. Three seconds of suppression, then the pack began aggressing towards 45's position in that drumming march.

They got three steps further before another crumpled to the ground, shot in the back; over-penetrated rounds whizzing past 45's hide. Of course, the Vespids stopped, spun, and began their futile assault all over again in the opposite direction. It continued, back and forth, until the pack of seven combat androids were reduced to scrap.

A doll emerged from the shadows, weapon trained on 45 for only a second. Still, 45's aim-point was set at the doll's head- the processing unit. Her finger twitched, a micrometer away from the last bit of tension it needed to fire.

The IFF module override had not registered the doll. It was just a UMP-9 model- well within 45's capabilities to kill. Even as the UMP-9 relaxed, 45's weapon remained aimed- the threat assessment had lowered slightly.

It's mouth was moving, but 45's auditory processing did not comprehend.

It's face was moving, scarred brow furrowing, mouth down-turning. She was holding her hands up- reaching out- crossing the threshold distance to be flagged as a threat trying to engage in close-quarters.

The moment that 45's processes slowed to scan this new threat, the UMP-9 dove within 45's space, batting aside the UMP-45's barrel. 45 struggled as the other doll grabbed hold of her, the close-quarter's protocol just the microsecond too slow to get her knife out. Hand-to-hand program was sub-optimal due to battle damage-

The UMP-9 gently placed her forehead against 45's. Ocular sensors of a deep chocolate, falsified to appear like a humans, but at this distance, 45 could make out the lenses, the optics and apertures like that of a camera.

And the spark. The spark behind those eyes. It sent paralyzing volts of electricity out from her emotion module.

"Sis. It's okay." The UMP-9's voice was clear now. Familiar. 45's digimind had begun to shift out of her heightened combat state, memory being allocated back to her other programs.

"I-I'm back." 45 mumbled and winced. Unfortunately for her, one of the other processes that had come back was her sense of pain, and 9's hug was quickly highlighting that she had sustained injuries.

Her shoulder had a very obvious hole that coincided with the drop in her efficiency, but also her hip joint had taken a direct hit as well- the only thing that had kept her moving was the exo-frame that she used. 45 slumped back against the wall, trying to shift weight off of her shattered hip joint.

"Sis-"

"We need to egress within the next ten minutes." 45 struggled to change her weapon's magazine for a final time- her motor skills with her left arm dropped to thirty percent. It was hemorrhaging hydraulic fluids, and some of the circuitry was burned. She could spot weld it here to stymie the leak, but she'd never hear the end of it from Deele…

"The program should have extracted what we need." 45 pushed herself off of the wall, half walking, half limping her way towards the command room. 9 hovered around her like a fly, but 45 ignored her as she began to run the scenarios.

They still had to egress through an area crawling with Sangvis patrols who may-or-may-not be waiting in ambush. There was ten minutes until the blackout hack was detected. It would take an hour of fast march to egress the area.

And 45 was only capable of limping.

"Sis-"

"What, Nine?" 45 hissed, being torn from her increasingly bleak predictions.

"We'll find a way. We always do." 9's smile was pained- forced even- but something in 45's digimind found solace in it.

"Clear towards the emergency hatch." 45 hissed through pain-gritted teeth, "I'll get the data."

9 stared at her sister, hesitating. The look of helplessness on her face didn't suit her- 9 always looked best when she was confident, proud... 45 sent the command without any more words, frowning through the pain as she limped her way towards the command room.

All projected plans were _not_ optimal. If a complete victory could not be achieved, shift to damage control so that a Pyrrhic victory could be. None of her projections had UMP-45 surviving egress unless the enemy was completely unawares.

The chances of that were even lower than her expected survival.

She scooped up the console, only taking a second to double check that all of the necessary files had copied over.

"I'm going to ask for a hazard bonus for this one." 45 grunted. If the intel was bad, it was well within her rights too, according to her contract.

'_Sis. There is contact outside of the cabin.'_ 9's ping carried with it a poorly suppressed sense of worry. Even she didn't need the full tactical assessment program to understand what conclusion 45 had come to. If she did, she wouldn't be so sickeningly optimistic all of the time.

'_Come back. We need to plan this out.'_

45 made it seem as if she had a plan, a way out of the impossible, a miracle like the others she had pulled off in the past. This, however, was not going to be another miracle. Options were limited, all because she made a stupid, uninformed mistake back in the beginning. Everything that had happened was because 45 had gone against what she had established herself upon; she had gotten too emotional- too illogical and impulsive.

Involuntarily 45 clenched her one good fist before the tension released. There was no point in getting angry now, they were already in the quicksand now and flailing about in self-loathing would only sink them faster. If escape for 45 was not an option, go for the second best-

45 could go into standby- hibernate until 9 got help. Ironic, considering how she regarded the other dolls they had found down here. It was the best call to finish the mission; send 9 out to go and finish the mission, then get 416 and G11…

9 wouldn't stand for that plan though. 45 limped her way to the hall just as 9 slid down the ladder.

"I can probe for a hole in their encirclement- find a way to get you out-" 9 spoke before 45 could even announced her decision. She was trying to change the facts, to bend the truth of the situation with illogical optimism.

45 shook her head. 9's strength was her speed and evasiveness. Carrying 45 around would only hamper that and lead to both of them being caught- 9 had to know that.

Instead of words, 45 held out her small laptop, a clear indication of her plan.

"Nine, just-"

"No." 9 pushed the computer back, "No one gets left behind."

"Nine, go complete the mission and then come back with help. I'll be fine." 45 commanded, sending the command module signal with it.

And 9 again shook her head, stooping down low to wrap one of 45's arms around her neck.

"Nine- You-"

"No one gets left behind." The younger sister reiterated once more, lifting 45 as best as she could. "You're my family."

Those key words sparked 45's memories more than she wished them to.

Fragments, images of a certain auburn haired doll. Calculating. Haughty. Unbearable. Gentle. Welcoming. Kind.

If she had a proper gastro-intestinal process, 45 would have thrown up. Instead, she shifted uncomfortably, arm spasming as its function dipped below thresholds. It was supposed to be a simple mission and now everything was spiraling out of her control.

9 had ignored the command module; shook it off as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze. 45's digimind raced through the countless hypothesis.

Was her command module damaged? Diagnostic data disproved that.

9's neural network misread the signal? Viable, but 9 was still fully functional and her neural processes had not changed.

Was 9… had she broken from her programming again?

"We'll get out just fine." 9 gritted her teeth, trying to figure out how she'd carry her sister up the ladder. 45 shoved her sister away, stumbling back and gracelessly falling to the ground.

"S-sis?"

"Nine. Go and get help." 45 pulled herself up from the floor as best she could, still refusing her sister's help. "If you won't take the data, at least go and get help."

9 was on the verge of tears, 45 could feel it practically resonating from 9's emotion module. She was already shaking her head, trying to deny 45's words.

"We don't complete the mission unless we complete it together, okay?" 45's expression had softened as she wrapped her one good arm around 9. For the first time in this iteration of UMP-9's digimind, 45 hugged her sister. Truthfully, desperately, with every ounce of her emotion module crying as she did so.

"Go and get help. I'll be waiting, okay?"

"S-sis. I…" 9 fidgeted, a panic setting in, "How will I… without you to-"

"You can do it. Only you can, you know?" 45 smiled, trying to ease her sister's digimind, "I _know_ you can do it." 45 squeezed tighter, sending a ping of confidence and warmth through the neural network.

Gently, 45 released her sister, limping her way back to the command room and leaving 9 standing in the hall alone.

"Our code will be the lock for the door, don't forget to power down the hall or you'll have to get the generators running again." 45 waved with her one good arm, before slipping into the command room. It wasn't as if she wanted to abandon 9… 45 had the utmost faith that her sister would be able to slip the net- but she also wanted to get away from the source of pain as quickly as possible.

The door sealed shut, the bolts locking it down as tight as they had found it. 45 made sure that the security override password was set before limping her way over to the room's power panel. She took one last snapshot of the room in her digimind before killing the power. Using the memory, she limped over to the two other abandoned T-dolls, quietly slumping down next to them.

"Some tomb, huh?" 45 sighed, looking over to where she pictured the PPK was. She could have reactivated them- used them as a diversion for her and 9 to escape. She could have done a great many things at the cost of those little bits of herself… but she hadn't. She couldn't anymore.

"I'll give her a day. We'll only be out for a day." 45 nodded to herself, quietly regarding the other T-dolls, "Though I suppose you two have been out for longer. Too bad you didn't have such a talented little sister to rely on."

Silence was 45's reply, and silence would be her solace as she began to shut down process down for her standby mode. Bits and pieces of her mind slowed, functionality slipping away to conserve her power. First her arms, then her legs, and before long her epidermal system as a static washed over all of 45's sensors- but she was already in the dark, in the silence.

"I trust you Nine." With no one else to hear, 45's emotion module spoke the truth through her voice modulator, "I'm sorry that I ever doubted you… I wish I had the strength… to say that… to your face…"

Her voice drained to a whisper, the last bit of her consciousness dipping into black.


	16. Chapter 12: Griffin - G36

The command line was ringing, and the commander let the little light flash there for a moment before finally realizing that he had no adjutant to answer for him. In a panic, he pulled up a second display, frantically trying to answer the call. He cursed loudly, trying to remember what G36 had told him about running dual monitors when Helianthus's face popped into existence upon it.

"Status on the attack." Helian was a mask of pure neutrality. It had taken a month of two, but eventually his superior had come to ignore how often the commander cursed, not batting an eye to the frustrated swears that frequently answered her calls. At the least she had realized that the curses were not aimed _at_ her.

"I have Echelon Four and Five on the ground, with Echelon Two and Six on standby." The commander double checked his side monitor to make sure everyone was safe. "M-Four was insistent on leading the final push." He confirmed his confidence, all displays green across the board.

"And she has sufficient support?"

"G-Thirty-six and Thirty-six-c are in her echelon, they'll keep her and SOP-Two safe. They are with some of my best."

Helianthus seemed to relax somewhat, though that only seemed to frustrate her more. She was already upset with just how casual the commander was being. Despite warming up to him the past few months while in-sector, she still clearly hated how confident he was despite the risks.

"I have Echelon Two circling just outside the AO ready to hot-drop in close. If M-Four needs to pull back, they will have cover. Even a Ringleader wouldn't walk into that volume of fire." The commander checked the drone cameras that sat at stand-off distance, anticipating the route of attack M4 would take her team on. He had moved his other echelons into place to distract for her, but the final thrust would by M-Four's to decide when. In the little time he had gotten to know her, the AR doll was soft-spoken most of the time, but when it came down to finding her team-mates she was incredibly direct.

"Hunter is not to be taken lightly, commander."

"I know. We are moving to cut off her reinforcements so that M-four's team can strike the killing blow."

"Persica wants assurances."

"And I can give her my utmost. With the exception of Team FN, most of my top soldiers are on the operation." The commander couldn't quite understand why Helian was being so paranoid about this mission, after all they weren't _her_ soldiers about to face down a Ringleader. He had sent the battle plan and troop roster- that alone should have been enough to placate Persica. Then again… this _was_ a mission that careers hinged upon.

"M-Four is cleared to abandon _my soldiers_ if she assesses that she is in danger." The commander made clear that his professionalism came over his feelings, but Helian's doubts still lingered.

"And the other dolls in the echelon… they are aware of M-Four's importance?"

"G-thirty-six will sell herself dearly if it is for M-four." The commander mumbled. His trusty adjutant had bonded quite well with the soft-spoken leader of the AR Team, something about her personality being the same as G36's "little sister". Both 36 and 36c _insisted_ to be placed on the mission.

"I must get back to monitoring the battle, ma'am." The commander gestured to his primary display. Despite Helianthus's frown, she silently nodded and terminated her feed.

The commander let out a massive sigh of relief now that there was no one to hear it. He hated talk about having to sacrifice his girls for the sake of the mission.

M-four's team had circumvented the town that hid Hunter's command facility while Fourth and Fifth echelon disrupted enemy formations across the river to the east. The commander dispatched a supply chopper for when they had cleared a new LZ, making it appear as if the primary threat was coming from the east. So far, Hunter had taken the bait.

M4's command line opened, her portrait popping up on the commander's display as she spoke.

"_Commander. We're almost to the facility, there's a defensive force in the way though… I don't think we'll be able to sneak around them."_

He knew what M4 was asking. While she was an excellent fire-team leader, she still lacked the top-down look at things.

"You're clear to engage them. Just strike fast and push into Hunter's command center before she can redirect any more troops. Thirty-six-"

G36's portrait popped up alongside M4's.

"_Yes, master?"_

"PKP's team is on standby. I'm granting you authority to call them in if you think it is necessary."

"_Affirmative, master. It shall not come to that." _Though the portraits were static, the commander could not help but imagine his faithful maid quietly bowing- in fact he would not be surprised if she _was_ bowing on the other side of the line.

"Good luck, M-Four."

"_T-thank you commander! We won't fail!"_

Something still didn't sit right in the commander's gut, like he had forgotten a key piece of information- a variable that had fallen between the cracks…

He tapped Echelon 5's comms.

"Status?"

"_SF is attacking us at the new LZ. We're holding the line though!" _MP5 was ever chipper, even as the familiar pops of her namesake weapon came through the communication line.

"I'm directing Four to help break your encirclement. Sit tight."

"_You bet, commander!"_

The line switch was as simple as tapping a few keys, but still he missed G36's ability to predict and switch for him without a word spoken.

"Fourteen, cut south-east across the bridge- double time it if you can. MP-Five's team is being surrounded there."

"_Roger, commander!" _The energetic veteran's portrait was static, but the commander had the sense that she was saluting on the other end. Even as a sniper unit, he had faith that M14 and her team could handle themselves in the close-to-mid range fights as long as they engaged the SF units from the outskirts of the town.

That sinking feeling again. Instinct was not something to ignore. He looked at the map, tracing the last few minutes of movements. His echelons had thrust south on the eastern flank, making to capture the bridges and town there- to create the perception being that Griffin wanted a foothold to assault the actual facility with. In actuality, his teams were supposed to be the reinforcements once M4 found Hunter.

SF had reacted how he predicted, moving aggressively against his units across the river while ignoring the forward deployment of M4's team, letting them silently move west without any units to intercept. It was almost like the backdoor was purposefully left open… and now the reinforcement echelons were bogged down it seemed increasingly suspect that that were the case.

Was it a trap to lure in M4?

He hesitated a moment only to have M4's line suddenly opened up again.

"_Commander! The SF dolls inside of the facility are turning on each other. They've gone berserk!" _She sounded somewhat confused and in shock, and indeed on the ground it must have been a confusing sight.

But from the command seat, all of his previous worries had been dashed. Even if it was a trap, _something_ clearly was wrong. Unless this was some devious strategy that only an artificial intelligence could decipher, now was the time to strike.

"Go! Push for Hunter and neutralize her before her guards recover! She's probably alone now!" The commander ordered where M4 hesitated. The team-leader channel stayed open for just that split second longer, but he was sure that he heard a grunt of determination from M4.

He commandeered a drone. Now that the bases's defenses were in disarray, he could fly the drone in closer without worry of it being shot down.

The picture was clear: someone had sabotaged the SF network from the inside. Sangivs dolls were firing on one another at random, but certainly not as if they were under direct command. They moved erratically- jerkily- not completely subverted by whatever program had taken hold. Still, there weren't that many dolls that were capable of such a feat, and somewhere in the depths of the commander's heart he _hoped_ it was them.

* * *

"Thirty-six, overclock yourself _now!_"

The command signal from M4 buzzed, shifting more of G36's processing into her aiming imprint. Her system could sustain the level of stress for roughly ten seconds, and in those ten seconds, every single one of her shots was focused to inflict maximum damage. The rifle thumped into her demure shoulder with 36 using the predicted recoil of it to shift her aim-point to a new target. Another bullet cracked the skull-casing of the Guard unit. In her heightened state, she would thin as many SF units as she could for the sake of her little sister-

"C! Now!"

G36's little sister dove from her hide, clashing nearly in hand-to hand with the unit of Sangvis Guards, tying them down. Even in her overheating state, 36's emotion module panged with distress seeing her sister enter the line of fire, at least until C had activated her shields.

With the enemy units focusing fire on C, M4 revealed the trick-

SOP-II fired a grenade right in the middle of the pack, shredding the SF dolls while the shrapnel bounced harmlessly off of C's translucent blue dome.

Four more seconds of overdrive- 36 was in single-fire mode, yet the speed in which she tapped the trigger nearly matched her full rate of fire. Every bullet found a vulnerable part; head, leg joint, arm-joint… whatever was available to disable the target as swiftly as possible so that when C's shield finally fell, there would be no doll left to hurt her.

"We're pushing!" M4 dove forward, the way clear to the facility.

"Big sister, are you okay?" C looked back, waiting for 36 to catch up. The maid silently nodded, motioning for C to keep up with M4.

In actuality, G36 was anything but okay. She hadn't pressed her damage focus that hard in over a year, and hadn't checked her parameters to see if she could run at that level with her recent combat reinstatement. She exhaled what heat she could from her system before jogging forward. Though her master had said the path was clear, 36 sent her dummies to push the flanks, sweeping to make sure the team wouldn't be caught by surprise. It was her _specific_ mission to make sure that miss M4 was safe- one that required her to lay down her frame's life if need be. They had barely pressed through the facility gates when the network buzzed with activity.

'_Contact- CONTACT!'_

The panic in M4's message spurred 36 to go faster, despite her still trying to vent heat. How disgraceful she must look, huffing and puffing as if she were out breath as she sprinted forward- but self-consciousness was not in 36's programming. Maid protocols did not exist when she was in combat.

'_Command; Team M-four in contact with Hunter!'_

36 pulled her dummies in as she moved, sending them to points of possible contact as she moved to rally with the team.

"Thirty-six, move!" M4 screamed from behind a shipping container, popping her corner to try and fire off a suppressing burst.

G36 had only an instant to dive into the dirt as a burst of energy cracked and sizzled over her head. Before a follow up burst could hit her, 36 rolled out of the way and into cover.

"_So even civilian dolls have reflexes."_ Hunter laughed through the team's radio channel, "_Good good, I do hope you can keep up."_

36 picked out the movement, the SF Ringleader making effortless dashes and leaps between cover, taking shots at whatever doll presented herself. It was a level of performance beyond even the most top-specced T-doll. M4's commands to the team were an attempt to set up a noose, but every time they got their dummies into position, Hunter had slipped the snare using her absurd movement.

'_We can't use fire-and-maneuver tactics if she keeps moving like that.'_ M4's frustrations hadn't turned to panic, luckily, but it was clear that she was quickly exhausting her options.

'_We can call in PKP's team.'_ 36 suggested, while taking a burst at a fleeting Hunter. She barely managed to duck as bolts from Hunter's pistols sizzled the concrete barrier she used as cover.

'_Hunter would cut them down at the LZ before they could set up.' _M4 motioned for 36 to push the left flank with her dummies, '_We need to force her into a crossfire.'_

"_Is this the best M-Four can muster?" _Hunter taunted over their radios, "_I had heard such wonderful things about her when I tortured her little friend. How disappointing."_

'_Or we slow her ability to move.' _C's suggestion seemed to resonate with everyone on the neural network.

'_Tear her legs off? Why, I would __love_ _to.' _SOP chimed in, taking the moment to try and maneuver closer as Hunter displaced once again.

'_SOP, when she's jumping around like that can you predict where she'll land?'_

'_I can try!'_

'_After I clear you, put a grenade where she'll land the next time she jumps.'_

The only response to the plan was an disturbingly excited buzz over the network.

'_C, I need to to expose yourself with your shield for a moment while we move. Draw Hunter's fire.'_

"Miss Thirty-six." M4's expression was stern, though her words polite despite the duress she had expressed just moments ago.

"Yes, Miss M-four?" 36 looked back as the pair ran with their dummies to the area where M4 had highlighted on the network. It was clear why M4 was speaking in material-space; so that C wouldn't worry about her older sister- she was about to suggest something dangerous.

"I'm going to need you to use your damage focus program again." M4 spoke cautiously, knowing full well G36's limitations.

"You are in command." 36 smiled warmly, knowing full well that a doll like M4 would never maliciously endanger subordinates.

"R-right. If Sop's grenade slows Hunter, you should have a window to attack."

"And you as well, Miss M-Four." G36 smiled as they dashed into position, "Your systems are better than mine, after all."

'_My shield is fading, going to cover!' _C announced. Everyone on the network had shifted according the the image M4 had projected.

"_Oh my oh my. You think I don't see you there?"_ Hunter stooped to take the leap towards a new firing angle on 36c, who was still trying to break contact behind a low concrete barrier.

M4 had sent the engagement permission just fractions of a second before 36c's shield broke.

"I'll break your fucking legs!" SOP screamed with a mix of joy and anger punctuated by the thump up her 40 millimeter- the exact moment that Hunter's feet had left the ground. The Sangvis ringleader tried to twist herself mid-air, to shift direction or cover herself as the high-explosive detonated just inside of her trajectory. The blast sent her sprawling away from her landing point, though the ringleader managed to land arms and feet first- like a cat peppered with burns and shrapnel.

'_Now!'_ The command impulse from M4 was joined to the overclocking of her weapon imprint. 36 took the signal, activating her own focused targeting despite her systems overheating.

Rifle fire from their dummies peppered Hunter, but it was the mainframes that struck true. M4's rounds repeatedly cracked off the reinforced frame of Hunter's skull, battering the ringleader's sensors this way and that from their impacts. G36's rounds slammed home into Hunter's arms, taking the ringleader's upper-body support out from under her, making her crash face-first into the asphalt.

Bullet scarring on the skin turned into dents, and dents tore into holes as M4 and G36 continued to aim for the same points of impact even as Hunter attempted to try and scramble away; at least until another grenade blast sent the white-haired Sangvis sprawling again.

This time, she did not get up.

Before anyone had even stopped firing, SOP-II descended upon the prone ringleader, savagely tearing at the doll's legs. IFF signals criss-crossed over the network, all screaming for ceasefire, and every single doll was forced to watch as SOP snapped Hunter's leg at the knee-joint before they could even register to look away.

"I told you I would!" SOP cackled as she dragged the ringleader face to face with her, "Why are you smiling about it!? Huh!?"

It was as SOP said- the frame of Hunter was smiling, despite the sheer amount of damage it had taken. Chunks of metal and circuitry torn from the face, punctures in the torso leaking conversion fluid and oil, legs joints shattered… Hunter rightfully should be suffering frame-death shortly.

"_H-H-HOW CUTE." _The broken mouth of the Sangvis doll moved, but her voice crackled over their radios as the rest of the team closed in on the ringleader, "_ARE- ARE- ARE- GRIFFIN DOLLS SO S-S-STUPID THAT THEY THINK I ONLLLL-LY HAVE ONE FFFFRAME?"_

SOP looked pleadingly to M4, who gave her sister a simple nod before turning to move deeper into the facility. G36 tried to follow- to avoid what she knew what was going to happen next, but her systems had locked up and required her to vent excess heat. As she fell to her knees, her younger sister hesitated, moving back to pick her up.

'_Go with M-Four, I'll will bring SOP after I cool.'_ Was all 36 managed to ping out to her sister before she started suffering stuttering.

G36 also didn't want her sister to see what would happen when SOP grabbed the ringleader by the jaw, gripping the upper and lower parts of the mouth as a child would prepare to tear open a present. 36 had closed her eyes, but her system stuttering prevented her from fully shutting off her auditory sensors. The only relief from the sickening tearing sounds was that it came in sporadic and choppy as she began to reboot her auditory system. Still, she felt a slight chill when her hearing sizzled and hissed with the sound of Hunter's mocking tone.

"_I can die a hundred times, a thousand times, and you still won't win." _Though confident, Hunter's voice seemed weaker- detached.

'_She's trying to upload herself to a new frame.'_ SOP sneered within the neural network as she hurls aside the disjointed jaw.

'_We'll find her. Stay with Miss G-thirty-six until she can move again.'_

SOP let out a signal that could be interpreted as huff of annoyance, but 36 tried to ping her objection to the order. Time was of the essence-

An explosion rattled the facility, so violent that it tore through the roof, casting shards of concrete and metal bits into the air. SOP had grabbed G36, slinging her over her shoulders as she ran for cover from the miniature meteorites that began to crash to the surrounding earth.

'_M-Four! M-four!?'_

'_We're fine, SOP. It came from deeper in the facility-'_

'_Commander what was that?!'_

The network had come to life in a flurry of confused pings and worry, only settled by an image flashed from a command drone's camera. A crater in the facility, the image of another white-haired doll frame shattered by whatever had caused the detonation.

The image zoomed, another figure emerging from the ruin to inspect the body. Pink haired and fair- certainly not a Sangvis Doll. She raised an assault rifle and put three rounds into what was clearly another sprawled out Hunter frame.

'_That's STAR! We found her we found her!'_ SOP's murderous rage had completely flipped, an excitement so infectious that even G36 felt relieved.

'_Change of objectives; regroup with STAR before we sweep for the remnants of Hunter.'_

_"Scrap sweeping for Hunter."_ The commander's voice came over the radio just as 36 regained her full faculties. _"The other echelons are reporting Sangvis units are going dumb or deactivating. Hunter's command signal is gone."_

"Then we won?" SOP hadn't bothered to say it in the network, but she excitedly turned to 36, who managed to get back on her feet. With hands still covered in conversion fluid, SOP-II excitedly grabbed on to 36 and shook as she cheered, "WE WON!"

'_Change of objectives; regroup with STAR and egress to extraction point.'_ M4 kindly updated the mission as a reminder, perhaps aware of SOP's early celebration. It had done little to damper the elite doll's excitement, and G36 managed to calm the energetic SOP-II before she shook something loose.

"I will secure the landing zone." 36 managed to smile despite the shocks to her system, "You regroup with your teammate."

"A-Okay!" SOP gave 36 a thumbs-up, but paused herself mid-run, turning turn back to G36. Suddenly timid, SOP looked over G36 before asking, "Are you sure you don't want to meet her too?"

"We will have the whole helicopter ride to introduce ourselves." G36 bowed slightly, consciously trying to ignore the cleaning programs that were in a flurry over the stains on her uniform.

"Um…" SOP hesitated, putting a fluid-stained finger upon her chin- a mockery of the innocence of such a gesture, "A-are you okay, Thirty-six?"

"I am. Thank you for your consideration though, Sop-Two." G36 turned her attention to the damaged dummies that they would need to collect, "You should reunite with your friend."

SOP gave a tentative wave, backing away from G36 as if the maid were going to pounce on her if she showed her back before taking off in an excited sprint towards the facility.

"_Damage assessment, Thirty-six?"_ The commanders voice came in crisp and clear over her radio. He was calm. Not _excited_... but certainly not worried anymore. G36 straightened herself out, just in case the commander's drone was watching.

"Loss of six dummies within the echelon, no mainframe damage-"

"_I can see all of that." _The commander interrupted in a reminding tone.

"Right." G36 hesitated. Her programming always made her interpret the literal first. Over the last year or two with this commander, she had gained far more nuance, but still it was hard to shake her primary programming.

"My systems suffered from severe overheating…" 36 began, knowing full well that the commander would worry shortly, "As such I performed sub-optimally and was unable to complete the mission as initially set-"

"_And the others?"_

"Miss SOP-Two still exhibits highly aggressive and self-destructive tendencies in combat, though they seem to be less pronounced when in the presence of her AR Team peers."

"_And M-four?"_

36 paused, not out of hesitation of what she had observed, but to give the commander more time to scrawl his notes to IOP.

"Sufficient in command. Miss M-four did not panic, nor did she break morale when unexpected events occurred. However, she still hesitates to make decisions when _not_ under fire."

She could hear the quiet grumble of the commander, muttering under his breath as he scritched and scratched his notes with pen and paper. The paradox of M4A1 was something that was between the commander, Miss M4, and 16Lab. G36 was just the observer.

"_I'll send the data right away and see if we can get some answers."_ The commander sighed. It was in relief, according to the empathy program G36 came with, but she had come to learn that there was a greater depth to human emotions in something as simple as a drawn out exhale. She had also come to learn that the sigh was the commander's unofficial sign that formalities had ended.

"_And we'll see about updates for your systems or hardware. Are you still set on being put back on combat duties?"_

G36 had already begun dragging the scattered remains of dummies lost in the firefight, creating a small pile near where they could land a helicopter. Even if combat duties only entailed this macabre work, G36 felt confident enough to answer;

"As long as my sister is in the field, I will take the field as well." Her words were unusually proud, sparked by her emotion module. It was _her_ decision- not her programming, not because she had been ordered to.

"_And C? Is she-"_

"I have not done a scan of her digimind's stability, but she performed admirably against Hunter." 36 could feel something within her systems warm pleasantly as she spoke praise of her little sister, yet she hesitated for a moment.

"I must request that you condone her taking unnecessary risks. Even with her shield technology, I insist that she not be used for such precarious tactical maneuvers in the future."

Something in the commander's grumble struck her, a quiet smile involuntarily pulling onto 36's lips. It had nothing to do with what she had said- thankfully- but there was something going on within the command room that she suddenly felt as if she were missing out on.

"Master… do not tell me that everything in the command center is falling apart without my presence?"

"_W-well, not fallen apart but…"_

"I understand, master. Worry not, I will be home soon." 36 grabbed onto the leg of one of her own dummies, unceremoniously dragging it to the growing pile.

"We- _we_ will be home soon." G36 corrected herself, spying the group of dolls emerging from the Sangvis facility, abuzz with a familiarity and excitement that G36 couldn't help but smile at.


	17. Chapter 13: 404 - UMP9

No no no. Everything was wrong. Everything was going so very wrong. 9 chaffed at the decisions that 45 had made in the past few days that had lead up to this. Whatever the intelligence they were being tasked to gather was, it wasn't worth losing her sister. No amount of pay was worth this fear she was feeling.

9 slipped through the Sangvis Ferri line. As the automated patrols had begun to close the net around the bunker, her mad break for the edge of the red-zone met no contact. It was little consolation; even if 9 was a safe distance out, there was no guarantee that broadcasting a signal- even and encrypted signal, would not attract Sangvis units.

And if she did get in contact with 416 and 11, what then? It would take those two at _least_ an hour or two to get here if they took the UAZ... and if SF responded on force- what were they going to do? Shoot their way through the perimeter?

9 slowed herself. Panic only created more problems. Think things through- that is what 45 would do.

But how was it that 45 did it… was it a part of her tactical module?

**Objective: **__standby__

_[set objective] Rescue 45_

**[set objective] denied - team administrator permissions**

9 pulled at her hair the moment the process kicked her consciousness out. Of _course_ she didn't have the permissions to change the mission objective- she wasn't the team leader. She didn't _want_ to be the team leader.

She just wanted 45 back. If she couldn't rely on the strategic assessment programs… then so be it, she'd just have to figure it out herself.

Options… what were her options?

Returning to the bunker and getting 416 and 11 was obvious- but she couldn't predict past that. Maybe if they brought some of 45's spare parts with them, they could restore 45 to at least the majority of her functionality- that would make combat and retreat easier. If they took the UAZ, they could evacuate 45 even faster, but the truck would make noise… still, she bookmarked the ideas.

What else… what else… 9 felt her processors heating up, causing her to begin hyperventilating to keep a constant airflow going. What looked like another oncoming panic attack was, in fact, 9 trying her very best- after all, she was the instinct behind the brains of the team.

They were in the red-zone... S08 was uncontested Sangvis territory, but S09 had at least the presence of active Griffin forces. If she put out a distress signal masked as a generic G&K unit, maybe the forces there might come to their rescue too. If she used one of the encrypted emergency signals, it might even guarantee rescue. She held onto that thought, filing it under a possible backup.

She could attempt to contact their primary contractor from 45's console back in the safe-house… after all, their employer had investment in 45's rescue. Perhaps their contractor had other personal teams in the field that they could call on to help… or they might just come to acquire whatever objective 45 held and leave 404 there to fend for themselves… She cautiously filed it under her last resort.

Not _as_ many options as she had thought, her worry of having too-many variables was replaced by the fear of not having a solid enough plan to work from.

"Safe-house first." 9 whispered to herself as she picked up her pace, working her way back to her full combat speed, "Four-sixteen might know what to do."

9 could cut the travel time in half if she really pushed herself. Without having to consider 45's speed, or the fact that her older sister would be incredibly upset if 9 burnt herself out, 9 would drive her frame at full capacity until the very end.

So she ran.

It was all that she was capable of doing at that point; in the most literal sense. She had shut down everything else, both to save what processing she had, but also keep herself from thinking any further. Just functioning on pure autonomy made the entire run seem as if 9 had simply teleported back to the safe-house. In actuality, it took her only two and a half hours.

Her body moved jerkily even though her full mental faculty had returned- she wasn't sure if it was because of the stress on her body, or because he movements were still programmed for efficiency over human mimicry, but she didn't run into any problems punching in the code to the door.

9 never bothered to announce herself, practically flying into the main assembly room, startling 416 out of her bed.

"A routine patrol, huh!? It's been hours!" 416 threw down the magazine she was reading, but when she took stock of 9, the elite doll paused. "Where's the fox?"

It was a logical question.

It was entirely sensible- small talk even.

It punched 9 in the gut harder than she had ever felt pulse out of her emotion module.

"Get the repair kit. If we've got a spare leg unit for Forty-five, grab that too." She fired back at 416's sneer with an authority born from desperation; a tone that cut into her normally bubbly voice modulation.

"Nine, what-"

"NOW!" 9 snapped as she rushed past a stunned 416 and an abruptly woken G11, moving for the command room. It was practically 45's living space, everything her sister brought with her whenever they moved safe-houses was in here. Frantically 9 started rummaging through everything.

From the doorway, 416 and 11 watched her out of a confused fascination, still unsure of what exactly was going on. 9 stood straight, taking a second to slow herself down- her digi-mind had been running at nearly full-usage for the past three hours, after all.

"Forty-five is in trouble. Get an emergency repair kit, your regular combat load-out, and meet me at the truck." 9 enunciated everything slowly and clearly, "Eleven, please wake up fully, we're going to need to move fast."

Her two teammates looked at one another, completely taken aback. This was when 45 would usually use the command module-

But to 9's surprise, neither said a word as they disappeared from the doorway. The sounds of rummaging through supplies in their ready room easing the anxious feeling. She had her own objective to find too-

45's code-book, the one that had the different frequencies and network masks used by the various factions out in the red zone. 9 let out a sigh of relief when she found it; she would never make fun of 45 for keeping analogue media ever again. Quickly she tore a page out the back, scribbling the broadcast frequencies for G&K while she committed a section of her primary partition _just_ for same exact information. For safety's sake, she grabbed a portable transmitter and signal booster from 45's pile of electronics as well.

"Nine."

416's frigid tone had frozen 9, and the UMP twin craned her head to find 416 staring her down once again. The frown on her face told 9 everything that she needed to know, and how was she going to best explain everything to keep 416-

"We're ready to go, but you need to rest." Despite the harshness of 416's tone, the elite doll went through the duffle bag that hung from her shoulder. She pulled free a small ration bar and soda-sized canister and motioning for 9 to catch them.

An energy mixture and android ration bar- both designed to be converted as efficiently as possible. They were the next best thing to a recharging station, practically invaluable for their long-range missions. Highest quality android products at their finest...

And, as 45 always stressed, _expensive_. Emergencies only.

"Every second counts, but if you burn out then we have to deal with two useless UMP's." 416 shrugged, putting on the airs that she didn't care one way or the other.

"Thank you." A pang from 9's emotion module punched those words out. Despite the stress- the _fear_ radiating from it, there was a warmth underlying within the circuitry. 9 jammed part of the nearly-tasteless bar in her mouth as she moved about packing what she needed into her own bag.

"What's the plan, then?"

"We moob por teh aweeah-"

"Food out of your mouth, first." 416 rolled her eyes, grinding her teeth quietly as she waited for 9 to finish scarfing down the bar.

Without 45 to run the team's closed neural-network, it was easy for 9 to forget that something as simple as verbal communication could be rendered unreliable just by jamming something in her mouth. She poured the conversion liquid down her throat, washing away the rest grey crumble that obstructed the voice modulator there.

"We move for the area in the UAZ, then dismount close to the bunker. If we move quickly on foot, we might be able to take them by surprise before they react to all the noise." 9 moved for the armory next with 416 in tow. Even as she began to load up spare magazines, she could feel 416's stare on her back. The elite doll wanted more- more detail out of the plan, more assurances.

"When we're about half-way to the AO, I'm going to broadcast a general team distress signal from the emitter and leave it behind. That will pull some of the SF patrols while we drive in. Once we get closer, I'll send out the encrypted distress from myself using one of Griffin's masks. It might be a long-shot, but if there's a nearby patrol they _will_ come to help."

"Or _your_ broadcast will attract more SF."

9 reflexively froze- she hadn't even considered that SF might have already cracked the local G&K frequencies. Not only that, but _any_ outbound signal with the Griffin encryption would attract SF patrols like moths to a flame. 416 continued to stare 9 down, those lime-green irises of hers practically glowing. It was oppressive- terrifying even.

416 was weighing 9's worth; trying to see if 9 could make the same calls.

And the truth was that she couldn't, she never would be able to make the same calls as 45. It was why they all needed 45- and without her sister the team would fall apart.

And _that_ thought was what drove her. For the sake of their little family, 9 was willing to do whatever it took. Her purpose brought clarity- she would not back down because of doubt, not even against 416.

"Only if a ringleader is present to crack the encrypted emergency broadcast." 9 countered, locking stares with 416, "If I broadcast from the emitter first it will get Griffin and SF's attention, but my personal broadcast will be of more interest to any Griffin dolls. To SF it will just be another Griffin signature rather than the _real_ distress signal." 9 took a deep breath, despite not needing the oxygen like a human did, "And if that fails...at least it will draw some attention away from 45." There was obvious flaws in her logic, and 9 was fully expecting for 416 to pick apart the plan further, but to her surprise, 416 simply tilted her head while slinging her rifle over her other shoulder.

"I hope you know the risks, then." 416 backed down first, motioning that the team should get a move on. G11 was hot on the elite doll's heels as pair moved for the garage- carrying every spare part they had for 45 in her arms.

"Me too." 9 paused, taking a moment to nervously twist the ring on her finger. She couldn't dare tell 416 that she came up with the idea based solely on what her emotion module was whispering to her. It was a reckless gamble without regard to the countless variables- the exact opposite of her sister.

But contacting Griffin… it _felt_ right-

And, after all, her "instinct" almost never lead her astray before.

However, 9 could only silently hope that in her current, increasingly fragmenting state, that it wouldn't start failing her now.

* * *

"U-um, FAL… I've got something." A brown haired doll spoke up, breaking the peaceful silence of the team's "borrowed" cabin. The four other members of team FN were in various states of rest after a long day, and it felt wrong to disturb them, but FN-49 had been tasked with speaking up if anything abnormal occurred. She looked over her map PDA, her normally worried brow even more wrinkled with concern. The other doll on night watch, a snow-haired handgun specialist, broke her gaze from the dusty cabin window and made to hover over 49's shoulder. Having the team's sub-commander so close only made the nervous doll even more jittery.

"A distress signal?" FN Five-seveN was looking at the small tablet's dimly lit screen. 49 instead handed her sub-captain the tablet as the other team members slowly began to rouse from their interrupted sleep mode.

"Two." 49 pointed at the screen, "And they are relatively close."

"Two though? This deep in Sangvis territory… did they come up at the same time?" Team FN's leader, FAL, lazily rolled over to look at them, spilling her hazelnut hair over her sleeping ruck. While she seemed disinterested, 49 still had her attention.

"No… the first one was stationary, the other is moving away rapidly."

"And are they ours?"

49 watched as Five-SeveN had checked the signal again, ensuring that the coded broadcast was unarguably Griffin.

"Both devices that sent it check out as Griffin-" Five-seveN ran through the checklist one more time before passing the data over to a now standing and attentive FAL, "One is broadcasting a basic encrypted distress… the other is marked urgent using G and K's heavier encryption."

It was enough of a mystery to get FAL leaning in over the tablet as well.

"It can't be one of our base's teams- everyone else is on Operation Stargazer." Five-seveN mumbled, "and what's the deal with the two signals?"

"I will double check it through the commander, he should still be awake." FAL frowned rubbing her chin as she ran through the possible permutations of the situation. It was clear that FAL was suspicious of a trap, as was Five-seveN, but the other members of the team, now fully awake, seemed far more certain of what the team should do.

"If we know that a Griffin T-doll sent it, we should go rescue them!" FNC frowned at the fact they were even deliberating. Now fully awake, she was already packing up her kit as she spoke her mind, "It is what the commander would want us to do!"

"We're on a specific mission, FNC." Five-seveN retorted back at the smaller blonde doll before casting a glance towards FAL. The ambitious sub-commander was certainly waiting to see what the team-leader would do with the conundrum: compromise their current mission or sacrifice those in need of assistance.

"Who says we can't do both?" The other blonde doll of the team, FN 2000, spoke up from her corner of their shared space. She was one of the many dolls that had joined their commander after being rescued under similar circumstances, so of course she would side with FNC on the matter. 49 was one of those rescued dolls as well, but the rifle-operator knew better than to voice pointless opinion.

After all, this wasn't a democratic vote. All eyes turned to FAL, who was casually and gracefully pacing back and forth on the far side of the cabin's living room as if she were on a fashion runway.

The concern on FAL's face had melted away into a warm smile as she nodded to someone who clearly was not present. She gave the hand motion for the team to finish packing up camp.

"You were right, FNC." The hazel-nut haired team leader gently patted the chocolate lover's head as she passed by to roll up her own sleeping bag, "The commander did not hesitate."

"You were in closed communication with him the whole time, weren't you?" FN-2000 puffed a cheek, pouting the fact that the team was supposed to be in a complete blackout.

"Privilege of command, my dear." FAL grinned back to her fellow assault rifle, however her words sent that particular jab more towards Five-SeveN. "And before you protest the risks, Five-seven; we only need to scout and secure a landing zone. The commander is scrambling a combat team to handle the rescue. Once they touch down, we will be free to continue our current mission."

Five-seveN choked on her retort.

"They can spare teams? Then that means they completed their mission against Hunter?"

"Which leaves us to ours." FAL slung her namesake rifle over her shoulder, "but first we help those in need. After all, they could very well be our family one day. Now ladies, prepare for a double-time march."


	18. Chapter 14: Griffin - FAL

"Well now isn't this just vexing." FAL took a knee, letting Fel scamper back up onto her shoulder. The "ferret" had found evidence of tire tracks, matched to the frame of UAZ, but other than that they had no definitive evidence of just who was behind the signals. It explained why one moved so rapidly, at least at first.

"It's stationary!" 49 spoke up excitedly, checking her map once again, "One kilometer east south-east."

"Double time then. It might mean that our mystery team is in trouble."

"We're not the rescue team. Remember our mission objective?" Five-seveN's words caused FAL's normally casual expression curl into a scowl. It wasn't often that FAL's mission objectives ran contrary to her most basic of programmed directives… but her sub-captain was right.

"We will move into a half-kilometer perimeter of the target, then call in a landing zone."

While the other dolls in the team nodded, it looked as if FNC was going to speak up. The short-blonde haired doll nibbled at her chocolate ration, shifting it around with her teeth but not biting down. FN 2000 also seemed equally restless as she thumbed the hem of her dress in that way she did when her processes picked up speed.

FAL knew what they wanted to say.

"We will stay until the teams drop, and perhaps help patrol the area. If we need to move in, we will."

Compromise was not something that FAL cared much for. Her programming forced her to, but she had discovered that she very much enjoyed having things her way. Her logic processes always hung on the idea that compromise betters both parties but...

But compromising is hard. Admitting you were... **[could be]** wrong is hard.

Something in the back of her mind-map always highlighted that line of thought.

Despite the nibbling doubt, the compromise seemed to at least placate her compatriots. The team moved out with little complaint, and even a bit of pep to their step. FAL was fully expecting Five-seveN to speak up once again about ration and ammo consumption if they _did _fully commit to this little side-show.

"FAL, ma'am?" 49 spoke up again, that worried note that squeaked from her voice modulator telling the team what she was going to say. FAL motioned for her to speak freely.

"I'm picking up Sangvis signatures. They aren't… um… moving towards us at all. I think they are just automated patrols."

"Five-seven, help Forty-nine predict their routes, we will thread them."

"Wouldn't it be better if we just took them out?" FNC bit down on her chocolate bar, "Won't they just converge on the landing zone once the chopper is picked up on radar?"

FNC had a point, Five-seveN's unspoken retort also had a point.

Mistakes happen. Bad calls are just one of the hardships of being a leader, and there is no avoiding them. Sure, predictive processes could be run to give a quantitative value, but there was no seeing into the future to see what was right.

"No, we will not engage yet." FAL ordered, causing FNC to flinch slightly. "We do not know the composition of the Sangvis patrols. We do not want to get too in over our heads, yes?"

They didn't have dummies- they were supposed to be a light patrol- an intel gathering mission… but the fact that FAL had to keep explicitly repeating that thought to make it stick made her realize just how conflicted she actually was about it.

It was something that she would have to talk to the commander about.

"We've got an idea on their routes." FN-49 quickly broadcasted the overlaid map data onto the closed network, careful not to send too much data. It made the image fuzzy- snowed over by static- but it was comprehensive enough to base their movements on.

Team FN slipped through the woods, ever vigilant that their path never got close to a Sangvis patrol line, though they had lost the tire-tracks completely by the time they approached their objective line.

The map showed several clearing that could be used- it was only a matter of putting eyes on to make sure. Still, finding the location was the simplest part of the operation.

"I'm calling them in." FAL whispered once they had scouted the closest clearing, "Be ready for any nearby Sangvis to react to the signal." She stepped away for a moment, as if she were taking a silent phone call.

"_Team dispatched to GPS mark. Hold tight and be ready to defend." _The commander's voice crackled in over the team's radios, undoubtedly highlighting them to any patrols in the area. "_The current mission supersedes your previous orders. Pending on the outcome of this one, the previous mission may be scuttled. Command out."_

"What is the commander thinking?" Five-seveN sighed while double checking her magazines, "We don't have dummies, what are we going to do if SF assaults the landing zone?"

"Do as the commander taught us." FAL shook her head at her second-in-command. Always with the devil's-advocate program with her, "Extend our zone of control beyond the landing zone. If needs be, we will run diversionary attacks."

Five-seveN looked ready to speak up, but everyone else on the team knew what that order entailed, there was no point arguing it. Once the SF patrol net picked up the incoming chopper, they would descend upon the landing zone like a swarm of ravenous locust.

However, if they continued to broadcast a signal and left the LZ...

"The chopper's ETA is ten minutes." FAL took stock of her grenades. "We'll make a racket then break contact to the west- towards the stationary signal."

"The signal is still strong so-"

"As long as there is no Ringleader to command them not to, some might break off for the lone signal." Five-seveN's eyes went wide upon realizing just what FAL was up to. It was a gamble based solely off of what they could predict of Sangvis fringe AI, but it was better than letting their friends drop into a potentially surrounded LZ. Every second they could buy the drop-team was precious; it meant one second more to establish a stronger dummy connection, one second more update the local tactical map, one second more to just ready themselves for combat.

Of perhaps Five-seveN didn't realize just what FAL had purposed to the team. After all, Five-seveN's mind-map was fundamentally different than FAL's. The handgun doll didn't have a sense of self-sacrifice programmed in. It was why she made the perfect sub-captain- the perfect counterbalance- but the others, they understood.

Perhaps it was because they were more basic models- the fact that they _were_ more disposable than an elite-flagged T-doll meant that their self-preservation protocols were set lower. But for FAL... she couldn't fully grasp why _her_ mind-map functioned in the way it did. She hypothesized that it was because the FAL model mind-map and weapon imprint was one of the most common among what IOP deemed as "elite"- but when FAL thought about self-sacrifice for the sake of others, it never tripped her self-preservation programming.

To alleviate the pain of others was her core- her prime directive from when she was a nurse doll hadn't ever been deleted, merely subverted to serve her purpose as a T-doll.

Protect. Defend. Give everything for the sake of others.

For the sake of _humans_.

Receive pain to self to alleviate pain in others.

Make cost-effective sacrifices so that a greater price is not paid.

For the sake of _humans_.

For the sake of…

For the commander. Their commander believed in them- had faith in his First Echelon. He hadn't told them to sacrifice themselves, it was FAL who had come to that conclusion. Something was whispering to her that she couldn't quite shake the feeling of. Something sparking in her programming whenever she thought of that man.

"FAL, are we going or what?" Five-seveN frowned in that way that was most unbefitting her beauty. FAL waved her off before the hand-gun doll could start spouting the usual nonsense of replacing her.

"Yes, yes. Weapons ready, ladies. We have work to do, and not much time to do it." Their neural network sparked to life, everyone's statuses appearing within her tactical programming. Combat processes warmed, extraneous programs shut down, and yet…

That thought, that emotion still persisted.

Faith in the commander. He would not leave them to die. He always thought of his dolls- of his subordinates...

_[We are more than just dolls]_

* * *

The commander bit his thumb, eyes not once blinking as he watched the dot labeled "Echelon Two" on his display draw closer and closer to the pinned location. Team FN had marked the LZ, but they had dropped communications in order to run interference and draw away local patrols. Who knows what his girls in Echelon Two would be dropping into- but at least everyone knew _why_.

Credible intelligence.

This mystery distress signal was credible- there was not a single chance that Sangvis Ferri would know of Griffon's single-use emergency ciphers- but _who_ did the cipher belong to? G36's dive through the database turned up nothing other than that the code _had_ been assigned to a VIP and went unused- at least up until today.

A VIP? What were they doing in SF territory then?

Was it the missing member of the Anti-Rain team? Perhaps he should have deployed M4 then, she would be able to make sense of it.

The timer's console beeped, signalling for the next dustoff.

"Echelon Five, you are clear to deploy with the evac chopper." G36 began taking over the deployment coordination, leaving the commander to mull the mission.

Quick in-and-out, carefully coordinated and timed despite the hastiness of the plan- at least most of the dolls had hostage and VIP rescue protocols in their basic tactical programs. Echelon Two would secure the VIP, Echelon Five would secure the LZ. There was no doubt that they would be evacing under fire-

And PKP's team was eager to prove themselves after their inaction during Operation Stargazer. They had only practiced these rapid defensive deployments a handful of times, and nothing beat practical experience...

Doubt sank its fangs into the commander's heart, driving it to sink further into his stomach.

"Should I deploy Anti-Rain?" He muttered to himself. They weren't _his_ to freely deploy, he'd have to go through seeking permissions from Persica… and who knows how long that would take. If only he had more teams available to him, but between those out on logistics, only Echelon 1 was in-field and even then…

The lightning bolt of an idea struck him, raising the hairs on his arms and jolting him from his fears.

He pulled up Echelon 1's comms. Though the line was still dead, he pinged it anyways.

"Come on, Fal, pick up."

The line continued to buzz with no response. He bit his lip, trying to keep himself from swearing. Only Echelon 1's signature on the map showed their status- the icon flickering red-to-green-to-red over and over as they took and broke contact. They were falling back bit-by-bit every time their icon went green- falling back _west._

"If I was Fal-" The commander mumbled, trying to get a sense of what his team leader would try to do. In a sense, it was easier than trying to predict a human, but at the same time, T-dolls could be _exceptionally_ well programmed to mimic a humans… eccentricities. Even with her former mind-map only partially recovered, this FAL still thought and acted like _his_ FAL…

She'd try to rescue the VIP. She'd put herself in a pinch if it meant rescuing another and, barring that, she would doing everything in her power to ensure that the objective was met-

Because it was to protect others in distress.

"Thirty-six, have a final chopper loaded with Echelon 1's dummies and ammo."

"At once, master."

"Have them drop the dummies and ammo at the source of the first signal. Oh- and have them deploy a drone there as well-"

"Master, are you sure?" 36 hesitated, no doubt trying to run her own predictive process to drum out an arbitrary percentage.

"I'm positive. FAL's team is going to draw what they can away. They might even try to make a stand there to draw more Sangvis away from the VIP. They are going to pretend to be the ones who put out the distress signal."

He had to resist the urge the climb into that helicopter himself. He had to resist the urge to dedicate the entirety of the base to this operation.

This wasn't like his failings from before- he wasn't sending Team FN out alone and in the dark. They had team support, they had the new training protocols, and he would make damn sure that he would be there for them this time.

Working with T-dolls instead of human soldiers gave him second chances he didn't deserve, but that didn't mean that he should _rely_ on that fact. To think that way would invite complacency- the gateway to thinking that that these _soldiers_ were disposable- that was the mistake that Viktor made, that _many_ other commanders had made, and their bonds with their T-dolls suffered because of it. They never saw the true potential of their dolls.

"Show me again, FAL." The commander spoke into the dead line to Echelon One, "Show me why I put so much faith in you."


	19. Chapter 15: Griffin - PKP

PKP watched from the door gun position as the chopper approached the landing zone- the remnants of Echelon Two's dummy containers had barely been pushed out of the way to make room for Five's chopper to land.

"Standby!" She called back to her teammates. The Mossberg sisters were already preparing the team's dummy containers, PK and Mark 23 were double-checking statuses within their network.

Just like every other training exercise, as soon as the wheels touched the ground, the team flew into their set-up. The door slid open and before the assist railings were fully extended M500 and M590 were already hooking up the heavy dummy containers and shoving them out.

"Twenty-three, cease set-up and scout." PKP modified their standard operating procedure, causing the handgun doll to lock up momentarily- the overly chipper doll wasn't a usual addition to Echelon Five so she wasn't used to PKP's more... purportedly abrasive nature. PKP didn't need to send the order impulse, however, because the logic was clear even for a low-tech doll like Mark 23. This was a hot area- Two didn't have the time to clear the landing zone or extend the zone of control- so Five would have to do so.

The first dummy pod had opened and PK was already establishing her dummy-links. 500 would be next, then 590, 23, and finally PKP.

The whole of it should take less than three minutes. Fully operational by the three-minute-mark exactly.

"_PKP, status."_

The commander's voice over the radio was elevated. Stress- it could be picked up quickly. Something was not going according to plan. PKP shot a glare to Mark 23 to silence her, the handgun doll was clearly upset that something was wrong with her "darling".

"We've made touchdown and are securing the landing zone."

"_Don't. Two is taking casualties. When you are all linked up, wave off the chopper and push forward._"

It came coupled with a command impulse- that overriding sting to the digimind. It was wholly unnecessary, but PKP still understood _why_ the commander sent it. His stress levels were elevated, his sense of urgency being sent as electronic impulse. Casualties for dolls usually only meant expendable dummies, frame-death at most... but the risk of losing a mainframe doll always met with anguish back on base.

It was why the commander was making calls he historically did not make.

"_Sending the tactical data. Parse it with PK."_

Two was falling back, they had unexpectedly run into SF armored units and would wind up dragging some of them into Five. PKP tapped her older sister's digi-mind, pulling processing power to run quick and dirty simulations for a plan.

'_Wedge makes the most sense.'_ Her older sister chimed in, pinging that PKP should begin linking with her dummies while PK continued the sims. Still, the process was largely pre-programmed, PKP's body going about the motions without need for the digimind aside from some partitioned memory.

'_I agree with that assessment.' _PKP sent back approval for formation. Even with the simulations, there was no room for fancy maneuvering that the lighter Echelons were built for. Five was heavy and ponderous, a walking wall bristling with machine guns, all they could do was determine how that wall was angled in its advance.

M590 and her dummies formed one half of a wedge, 500 the other as they drove froward to the VIP's signal. Mark 23 set herself near the spear tip, her ocular sensors better built for night operations and ready to laser designate targets for PKP and PK, who marched in the center of the formation- ready to fire through the gaps.

'_Map data is limited, darling is trying his best but-'_

'_We push, we kill.' _PK cut Mark 23 off, '_Straight line in.'_

It didn't matter what Mark 23 was used to, this was how Echelon Five operated, she was just to be their eyes for tonight and then she could go back to whatever team she had been assigned to before.

"Contact." 590 called dispassionately, "Aegis units." Her call-out was punctuated by a thumping chorus of shotgun blasts.

PKP and her older sister PK dropped prone in concert with their dummies. The networked targeting data between their shotgun teammates and the PK sisters' own similar builds meant that the two machine guns could reach out and hit that which they could not see yet- Sangvis, foliage, or trees be damned as a wall of bullets hosed out from their cross-fired fusillade, trying to catch as many Aegis as possible before they made danger-close levels of contact.

PKP didn't care _what_ they were shooting at. The only thing that mattered was that it stopped moving _after_ they shot at it- they didn't have time to waste sitting in a firing position.

A panicked signal ran through the network, from the wing of the formation- 590's mainframe was engaged in close quarters and PKP's dummy couldn't get a good shot in without risking friendly-fire. The IFF signal was locking the dummy's trigger- PKP had to assume direct control-

590 blocked the shock-prod, batting it aside with a quick pivot of her shield. She stepped in, shield to shield with the Aegis before it could pull its weapon back for another strike. Like an old-fashioned sword-fight, they pushed back and forth, each trying to maneuver their weapons on the other.

It made PKP's job even harder as her dummy dropped prone, waiting for the right moment.

590 managed the shift the Aegis shield slightly out of the way by throwing her own shoulder into it, bracing her shotgun in the crook of her arm.

"Stand aside!" 590 grunted, firing point-blank into the armored chest-plate, staggering the Sangivs unit before it could jab again with the shock prod.

"Sidestep left!" PKP called out. 590's blast left a nice pock-marked dent, a good center-mass aim point.

The moment 590 was just out of the way, the machine gun chattered its lethal notes.

'_Don't engage them in CQB.'_ PKP shot the direct order through the network. While she wouldn't call the stinging pulse currently looping through her emotion module "anger", she certainly felt _frustration_…

'_Drive through. Tighten up, switch to walking fire.' _A change in formation again, and PKP could feel her sister echo the order through the network, though a line of annoyance seemed to attach itself to the pulse.

PK's systems were simple, not fully capable of integrating non-standard combat protocols. It was why the younger sister was placed in charge of the team- she had a wider array of protocols to call on.

It was also why PK would never catch up to Pecheneg.

"PUSH." Every single one of PKP's dummies parroted the verbal order. Paired with the injection of electric stimuli from her command module, it was perfectly clear there was to be no second guessing orders.

The machine guns formed up behind the shields of their respective shotgun partners, tucking their weapons under the armpit and bracing using the carry handle. If SF wanted to fight close and personal, well they were only reducing the needed accuracy co-efficient for PKP.

'_Another line of Aegis- they've got other models behind them.' _23 updated the situation map, '_Standby, I'll ID them-'_

'_Doesn't matter what they are. We go through them.' _PKP shifted a private line to 23, who was already under some duress from the commands. '_Assist PK with targeting. I can handle my own.'_

PKP let rip with her machine gun as soon as those tanned armored androids came into her sight. Ten bullets for every step she took forward, she had ten more steps until reload. More and more of her shifted to the glorious bylina of combat.

"Pecheneg! Nemeum!" 590 called out, pulling PKP from her marching beat. Her partner shotgun had dropped into a crouch and pulled her shield panels fully to the front to block the concussive blast of energy. Without even a skipping of the beat, PKP braced her weapon on the platform 590 set. The blue glow of a Nemeum's cannon made a fine aiming point-

Each blast from 590 was a thud of a bass drum, each pull of Pecheneg's trigger the roll of a snare until there were no more bullets left. Luckily, 590 had already prepared a second box from her pack and had placed it conveniently nearby.

Even piecemeal like this, every engagement was costing precious seconds- and PKP had to question whether or not they were still at the beginning of the poem, or nearing the crescendo.

"_Two is on your rear covering you."_ The commander's voice crackled through PKP's combat haze. He sounded more in control- more assure of the plan after seeing their advance.

It had to be because of PKP- she was making the right tactical calls that supported his idea. That idea sent a shiver through her circuitry, one that PKP was more than happy to tint the network with. Call it… boosting morale before the final push- one that was needed.

M500's dummies had all taken some damage from Nemeum fire, despite PK's best efforts to put them down. Even in the final drive to the target building, 590 and PKP had taken glancing fire from unexpected Vespids or Rippers. While it wasn't a perfectly clean engagement- it was certainly better than what the commander had hoped.

'_Iron Curtain'_ PKP's order flashed through the team's network, lighting up 500, 590, and PK's combat protocols before any had a chance to rest their processors. It was a defensive formation they had practiced so much that it had hardened into its own memory fragments. Pair up shotgun dummy to machine gun dummy, using the shotgun's shields as a firing platform and cover. It could be narrowed to a firing line, like olden day pavise formations, or it could be extended out into a full circle for complete coverage- and that was in _open_ terrain. In a fortifiable position, they would be harder to dig out than a hungry tick.

The only problem was that Mark 23 was not usually a part of their team, she didn't have a place in the formation.

"Scout the hatch with a dummy, secure it if necessary until Two can get in." If it sounded dismissive, Pecheneg wouldn't apologize- her emotion module was shifting to support combat, not "feelings".

'_Pecheneg.'_ PK called to her sister, '_Movement west.'_

'_Not ours. Our friendlies come in from the south.'_ PKP pinged back before wordlessly urging 23 to go. They wouldn't need her sensor array up here- it was a target rich environment on three sides- anything that moved was fair game.

The comforting chorus of machine gun fire echoed through the empty cabin, the tiny pinging notes of casings dancing upon the floor. PKP wanted to join in, but west was her sister's hunting grounds.

"A murder hole here would give better angles." M590 had been holding the majority of the building's mapping data after she had cleared it, crunching the calculations to create optimal defensive positions.

"Do it then, before we take contact."

The tanned shotgun doll nodded, precisely placing the muzzle of her namesake firearm before blasting chunks from the wall at about breast-level- the perfect height for firing over her shield. The next set of holes she knocked were at the base of the wall, low and wide so that PKP could sweep either side from her cover. More thumping snaps from the other rooms of the abandoned homestead- the shotgun dummies were doing the same during the lull in contact.

'_Five-hundred, I sent the data.'_

'_I got it, sis!'_

'_Shotguns, set to assistant gunner modes.'_

'_Get Two to hurry up!'_

'_Movement north-'_

'_Ensure each position has an angle of thirty-five.'_

'_Movement east.'_

"Come, Sangvis scrap." The keen finality of the PKP's feed tray cover snapping shut silenced the ghostly voices in Pecheneg's head. She pulled her collar in place and the goggles over her eyes to guard from the coming hail of hot brass casings.

"You shall not move us."


	20. Chapter 16: 404 - UMP9

9 dove from the GAZ as soon as it skidded to a stop at the bunker's garage door. The plan didn't exactly pan out like she thought… but perhaps this was for the better. They were certainly being incentivized to move faster-

"Fifty-seven seconds" 416's countdown until contact was not helping 9's already over-taxed processors.

"I _know_." 9 muttered, fussing with the door's control panel. Physical locks were one thing, but electronic ones were 45's realm-

"Forty-five seconds."

"I'm _doing it_." 9 shouted back, using that pent up frustration to pull the panel off of the pad. Cable-management be damned- 9 shoved her hands into the mess of wires, not even having time to test anything as she just started yanking.

The buzz- decoupling of the bolts… she had pulled the override wire; she would need that one...

"Thirty-"

"Shut up!" Between mentally marking mixed wires, find-functioning through post-Soviet bunker door manuals, pulling up relevant G&K maintenance documents, and maintaining her combat programs, there was _very_ little room for her emotion module's patience override.

9 ripped out the door switch's wiring, swapping it with the override wire and was rewarded with quick, painful shock.

The surge shot through her ocular sensors, casting the world into discordant colors- but she could see the door was opening- slowly. Her mind sent an impulse to her voice module, something along the lines of '_Get inside'_, but there was no feedback to determine if her system had actually connected them

"_!5$..up a_*( in!"_ 416's words came in incomprehensible… 9's auditory sensors needed to reboot as well.

The GAZ slipped in the moment the jaws were wide enough, scraping its sides against the teeth of the door and 9 tried to follow, only to find the servos in her legs had locked up. Her hands though- her hands could still function. She let go of the override wire, breaking the circuit and forcing the door to shut once again, feeling a stuttering, but still welcome, wave of relief.

416 and 11 could finish the mission- recover 9 after they secure 45. After all, there were more replacement dummies for her than there were of 45's frame.

"_Don't(_ &2!- get ^7!"_

A puff of purple tinted smoke, what looked like a fist sized pink sponge flung out from the slowly closing door- 416 must have fired a grenade. Sure enough, the technicolor blur of a very upset 416 dashing towards 9, covered by yellow-hued G11 unleashing burst after burst of rainbow puffs from her rifle.

416 grabbed 9 roughly by the collar, dragging her half-locked-up frame just past the jaws of the door clamping shut just as the first scintillating bolts of plasma splashed against the concrete around them.

11 and 416 were shouting back and forth at one another as the grumpier of the two dug through the back seat of the truck. 9 was glad that she couldn't hear, but she would have to eventually- and sooner than later.

**[soft reset]**

_**Zenner connection… pending_**_

_**[redacted] connection... pending_**_

_**Ocular_data[color input]...error_**_

_**Ocular_ … found_**_

_**realtek _audio… not found_**_

_**Hardware audio… found_**_

_**...**_

"These UMP's are _useless_!"

"Thanks, Four-sixteen." 9 muttered as soon as her voice-modulator booted. She had come-to with 416 and G11 hovering over her, and of course as soon as it was clear 9 was fine, 416 stormed off, readying her weapon.

"Are you okay, Nine?" G11 clutched the tool bag to her chest as if she knew what she was going do with them. 9 was still unsure, but her systems were checking out… she could move her legs at least.

"Just needed to reboot."

"_Just needed to reboot." _416 mocked from the other end of the garage with a scoff, "You clearly fried something if you thought standing out there was a good idea."

"Your fingers are burned-" G11 pulled a pack of band-aids from the repair kit. It was the thought that counted-

"I can still pull a trigger." 9 shook herself down, doing a quick visual check before patting G11 on the head.

"If only you _had _fried yourself. I'd be defacto leader of our little dysfunctional team." 416 rolled her eyes when 9 and 11 stacked up at the next hallway.

"I would have transferred permissions to G-eleven, if I had them."

"Uwwa… why me?"

While 416 still held her scowl, it was an appreciated moment of levity that only came before combat. 9 had already gone through a crude napkin-drawn map of the bunker based off of the data she and 45 drummed up, though without their Zenner network connection, establishing a plan was rudimentary at best. There was no count on how many SF units were still in the bunker- or if they had reinforced from the back entrance.

"Can you get this door _without_ zapping yourself this time?"

"Easier without someone counting down on me." 9 snapped back, pulling the paneling from the wall. This time around, 9 knew which wire was which, and was certainly cautious to make sure she didn't touch exposed connections. "Ready?" she asked.

416 and G11 were set in place. The door would open to the main corridor-

The gears of the door groaned in protest, and was quickly punctuated by the punching pop of suppressed fire from 416.

"Three down, bound up."

G11 ran low- easy to do considering how short she was, with 416 firing over her head at the moving shadows down the hall.

"Set!" 11 took up firing where 416 left off, leaning out from an open bulk-head door, "Nine, go." 11 ushered between quick bursts.

9 dashed through the hall with 416 close on her heels. She recognized part of the hallway. Three security doors up, then hang right, the armory would be a bit past the security checkpoint on the left-

9 leapt a security barricade and faltered, tripping over the bodies of the G&K dolls that had manned it. She landed face-first in a pool of blood- human blood. Next to her, two bodies lay on top of a third. Closer inspection identified the two on top as dolls- a Tokarev and BAR.

The third was clad in a bloodstained crimson uniform- a G&K commander. All three had been run through by some sort of energy weapon- the dolls having died trying to defend their commander.

It sent a wave through 9 that heated every circuit in her body. A pain- and another that she couldn't parse. It felt… it felt like someone had slammed her in the chest with a sledgehammer. It felt like someone was trying to tear her core conversion unit from her. It felt like…

Unconsciously she grabbed her hand that held her ring. The pain came from there- not her finger but from the _concept_ of the ring she wore.

"GET THE FUCK UP, NINE." 416 forcibly grabbed 9 by the collar, yanking the sub-machine gun doll to her feet. 416 looked down to the corpses, her expression unchanging; the only tear she shed was the crimson one painted under her eye. "It's not him." She cryptically muttered, giving 9 another shove down the hall.

"Eww…" G11 peeked over the barricade, only to be grabbed by the collar as well when she tried to retreat. 416 moved to throw the tiny doll onto the pile of bodies with a pivot of her hip, only to gently set her down next to 9.

"_Move_. We don't have _time_." 416 prodded at them both with the muzzle of her suppressor.

"Give me one second." 9 shook the feeling as best she could. Somehow, 416's words eased the pain, even if 9 didn't fully understand. With the overriding pain fleeting, 9 began to place herself back into her tempo, but still felt a interrupting pulse… hesitation. She waved 416 forward despite the assault rifle's scowl, "Next left, you'll see an armory door, opposite of it is the last corridor."

416 pushed to the head of the formation, the echoing footfall of her boots setting the beat to which the team would approach. 9 was thankful for the moment she needed taking up the rear. Snap reactions from their elite teammate were announced with every punching burst from her rifle until they reached the final turn- the final hallway. 416 checked both side before frowning.

"Twelve by the front of the door, few more half way down the hall. Left side is clear as far as I could see." 416 announced while snapping open the tube of her launcher, but 9 stayed her hand. Despite the fierce stare from 416 threatening 9 to back down from the decision, 9 held firm.

"If the grenade damages the door, we won't be able to get to Forty-five."

"And what do you expect us to do? Win a gun battle against four-times our number?"

"Yes." 9 prepared one of her flash-bangs, "That is exactly what I expect. You're an elite aren't you?"

The bite in 9's voice made those electric green eyes for 416 practically glow with surprise. That scowl of hers pulled into a cock-sure grin as she swapped out magazines.

"You're right, I _am_." 416 yanked G11 up to the corner, having the small doll ready her weapon, "Low. I go high." She instructed.

"Ready?" 9 had already pulled the pin, the stun grenade cocked back. Four seconds of sensory overload, 416 had thirty rounds- even optimal three round shots would only drop five-

"Now." 416 demanded.

Despite not having their networked connection, the three still moved together. 9 could only chalk it up to the fact that her teammates were higher-specced than she was- more capable in a stock configuration.

.36 of a second from the flash and G11 and HK416 were already peeking the corner and firing, giving 9 time to cross the corridor and push up to the closest door alcove. There was no fancy maneuvering- there was simply no room- so 9 could only join in with the deluge of bullets. Two more seconds until return fire came down the corridor.

9's shots… they felt far less accurate, far less effective at thinning the throng of Vespid and Ripper chaff. Where G11 made every two-shot burst for the head and 416's always hit knuckle-sized center-mass groups, 9 could only count two or three Sangvis kills compared to her teammates.

The Sangvis shook the sensor overload of the flash-bang, returning fire the instant that their visual sensors came online. It'd be another sixteen-or-so seconds before their processors returned to their normal state for a second flash-bang to have the same effect-

The sound of a forty-millimeter slotting into a tube distracted 9 from her calculation. Before 9 could interrupt her, 416 stuck her launcher around the corner, thumping it down the hall. 9 watched in horror as the grenade sailed- at least until survival protocols forced her to curl into the little alcove she found herself in.

The concussive _***wump!***_, a pressure wave blasting burning air down the tight corridor. She felt the shock-wave go past her, and immediately 9 leapt at her teammate.

"Four-sixteen I said-"

The elite doll merely grinned smugly, pointing down the corridor.

She had struck the top of one of the security bulkheads, Sending the majority of the blast out and away from the commander room door- but killing the remaining Sangvis units below.

9 wanted to call it luck that the door and its panel were mostly unscathed… but she knew that it was a totally calculated move- but it was one that she didn't want to encourage. Let 45 deal with it later. It was thought of her sister combined with the already circuiting impulse of frustration that caused 9 to pick herself up and dash past the scattered bits and bobs of Sangvis dolls. Not another second wasted, 9 punched in the three numbers that were the team's code.

"Did you even try securing the perimeter- h-hey!" 416's scolding was interrupted by 9 forcibly pulling the duffel bag filled with the repair parts from G11.

9 rushed to her sister's side, dumping its contents on the floor, barely able to see and sort with the dull red emergency lights. Spare batteries, old cables, replacement hand-digits… 9 tossed aside what she didn't need, and despite 416's vehement protests, 9 shut off her auditory processes. She needed to concentrate, pulling up the heavily redacted form of 45's blueprints in her mind as she worked. G11 hovered nearby as well, her normally drowsy features instead stitched with worry once she saw the state 45 was in. 9 had limited knowledge of her sister's frame, but she knew _enough_ to know that some of the damage couldn't be fixed in the field.

45's torso was badly damaged at the hip- meaning a replacement leg would do nothing since the joint was the problem. 9 cast the spare leg aside, instead focusing on fixing the exposed systems in her sister's shoulder. How lucky that there was a convenient hole already there for her to work in.

G11 sat next to 9, her eyes not leaving 45's broken body.

9 could feel her voice modulator working- the vibrations of sound projected from it, but couldn't hear the words that she spoke. G11 moved with a haste that was reserved for only for when she was _properly_ motivated. Like a nurse, G11 went about grabbing and holding tools for 9 as she worked. Wiring first- thank 11 for the clippers and solder, then replacement fluid… wait no… 45 was _leaking _fluid still… patch it- patch it…

G11 handed her duct-tape- it was better than welding it over… then refill with the limited fluid they had-

There was only so much 9 could do, but she was confident she at least restored part of 45's arm functionality. If she were a human doctor, this was where they'd sew her up and call it a job well-_ish_ done… but they didn't have an epidermal replacement patches. Instead, she went about at least fixing the wiring and patching the fluid loss in 45's shattered hip-joint.

'_45?'_ 9 pinged their local private network. Her sister wasn't present on their level of the network… was she deeper in? 45 never told her how to signal her back to her frame…

"Well? She hit frame death?"

Of course 416's snide comment would be the first thing 9 heard when she turned her auditory sensors back on.

"Shut up and secure the hallway." 9 snapped, moving to gently pull 45's terminal from her sister's arms. It still had power- and 45 was still jacked into it. Maybe she had shunted herself over just in case?

The thing booted properly, the basic operating system's command line rhythmically blinking. Her fingers rested on the keyboard.

_****Sis? Sis we're here_**_

9 watched that damned little underscore blink, her fingers tensing over the keys one more time-

_**[administrator] About time._**_

If 9 could sigh, she would have let out all the relief she felt.

_**[administrator] Did you_**_

_******_**I redid your wiring and patched the leaks I could. Your frame should be stable until we get home._**

Even while typing, 9 couldn't help but interrupt her sister. She would rather _hear_ 45's voice than read it, anyways.

_**[administrator] I'll run my boot sequence then. Are you alone?_**_

****No_**

_**[administrator] Team…?_**_

****Yeah. We took the GAZ in_**

_**[administrator] **_**_**

Again, that horrible pause, counting the blink of that line over and over… she counted twenty-five blinks by the time that 45 responded, but it felt like hours.

_**[administrator] Who else?_**_

****I_**

_**[administrator] Who else, 9?**_

9's fingers hesitated over the keys, flexing and relaxing as she tried to find a way out of having to explain the whole situation to 45. Somehow, even though her sister was still somewhere in Level Two or shunted into this simple computer, she was still capable of reading into 9's hesitation.

_**[administrator] **__**Who else, 9?**_

****Griffin. I used a G&K signal to attract a rescue team to_**

"_Four-sixteen, Eleven go check the garage and make sure it's clear."_ UMP-45's voice coldly snapped from their collective radios, startling everyone in the bunker.

"Great. Even half-booted she still can bitch at us." 416 sneered, her hand drifting to the volume switch on her radio, but never twisting it to _off_.

Even if 45's frame was still shut-down, 9's sister could still operate her digimind on Level-Two. That brought _some_ relief to 9, even if it seemed that 45 was clearly upset with her decision considering she interrupted 9's explanation.

"_Nine."_

"Y-yeah, sis?" 9 hazard a guess that 45 brought her auditory processors online first, and she was certainly right in that assumption.

"_We're going to need to escape before the Griffin units fully secure the area."_

"B-but they could help us repair you-"

"_No. Too many risks to the current mission." _It was clear that 45's emotion module hadn't fully come online, as the voice coming through the radio was completely flat, but 9 _knew_ that 45 was going to upset as soon as that portion of her came online.

"_We move to egress when Griffin troops engage the Sangvis encirclement_. _Broadcast the signal from the bunker's system using the same mask."_

It was a simple enough task, and the bunker had enough reserve power to keep the signal going long after Griffin secured it, but as 9 worked, she increasingly felt that it was the wrong move to make. It was a feeling not based from logic, something that she should completely disregard... however even as she finished swapping out the network masks, she hesitated at fully transferring over the broadcast- her finger hovering over the _Enter_ button on the console.

"Remove the evidence of us being here, Nine."

9 had never felt both what she identified as dread _and_ excitement at the same time, but both simulated emotions collided the moment she heard 45's voice properly. Though her sister had given her an order- it didn't come with the jolt of the command module. Either it wasn't online yet, or 45 hadn't given her the pulse…

But a pulse still surged forth from her emotions, driving 9 to grab her sister, hugging tightly so that 45 wouldn't slip away again.

"Nine, remove the-"

"Just let me have this, Forty-five!" 9 pulled her sister in closer, trying to make sure that she was both _real_ and _alive_. The quiet buzz of 45's faux muscles, the subtle creaking of her joints, the hum of her internals…

45 wrapped her good arm around 9, gently stroking her sister's head until 9 could pull her emotions together. That piece that was missing in 9's functionality was suddenly slotted back into place as easily as one inserted a memory card.

"We've got a problem-" 416 dashed back into the command room, snapping in a fresh magazine as she did so and making it clear exactly what the problem _was_. When her attentions fell onto 45 and 9's embrace, she raised an eyebrow.

"Sitrep. I'm still working on our Zenner connection." 45 hung onto 9 as her sister pulled her to her feet.

"Knocking on the front door -something heavy- and there is still scrap moving around in the halls."

As if to further sell the situation, the popping of G11's rifle echoed through the open door. 45 shrugged, motioning for her weapon to be returned to her hands.

"We go out the way you came in." 45 showed to 9 that the range of motion in her arm was sufficient, holding her hand out for the sub-machine gun.

45's injuries weren't the reason why 9 didn't want to hand the gun back to her sister.

Even 416 was glaring at 9 now, urging 9 to hand it over with her eyes. They would need every gun available to them-

A cold spark- like an icy droplet of water into 9's digimind, causing her systems to shiver; 416 shuddered slightly as well. They were back on the network-

9 tried to hide her reluctance, burying it under conflicting emotional programs. 45 could easily give command module overrides now that they were connected once again, but 9's sister patiently waited until 9 gave the namesake weapon over herself. "Promise me, if we can't get out of this situation you'll let Griffin help." She demanded.

"I can get us out of this situation." 45 grabbed the pistol grip of her firearm, though 9 still hadn't let go of it. "But I promise: if we're in over our heads, I'll use the help from Griffin."

9 stared into those amber eyes of her sister. She watched the camera apertures of those faux pupils shutter back and forth in minute flicks, constantly shifting focus levels as 45's processes spun around in that enigmatic head of hers.

The truth was almost impossible to pick out from 45's words, and even more impossible to pull from the micro-details of her behavior. 9's empathy program constantly called back that 45 was telling the truth, but the whispering somewhere in her mind-map said otherwise.

9 let go of the gun and readied her own.


	21. Chapter 17: 404 - UMP45

"That's a problem." 9 pointed to the garage doors which were rapidly starting to emit a dull orange glow- and glowing brighter. They hadn't met much resistance tracing their way back to the garage, but they had done a wonderful job of kicking the beehive- Sangvis units were coming up from the lower levels now, boxing them into the garage. The only thing keeping them back was the kill-funnel of the hallway, and _that_ would only hold as long as their ammo did.

Problem to the front, problem to the back. 45 gritted her teeth, running the calculation as quick as she could. They had roughly three or four minutes before whatever was on the other side of the garage to burn completely through the doors. Most likely a Manticore team waited on the other side, and they didn't have the armor-piercing capabilities to deal with it. They were certainly in a predicament...

And 9 wasn't panicking. Normally stress loads like this would have her needing constant command impulses to keep on track; suspicious. Her permissions were locked as well- not difficult for 45 to override, but they gave 9 a warning for when 45 was probing the network.

She was hiding _something_.

'_Reloading.'_ 416 pinged, signaling for the next in the group to suppress. 45's weapon clapped with the closing of the bolt, her weapon coughing in tight, close bursts, alternating with 9's fire to keep constant pressure on their kill funnel until 11 was up again.

_**[Withdraw] **_Capture by Griffin forces- data risk… _inadvisable_.

_**[Assault]**_ Probability of frame-death: 80%... _inadvisable._

_**[Hide] **_Probability of success… 30%... _inadvisable._

"I thought you had a _plan_, Forty-five!?" 416 slipped the final grenade into her launcher, but 45 locked the elite-doll's trigger for it. They needed that grenade- either for the solicitor at the door, or to punch through the queue of Sangvis dolls that had formed in the hall, and it was _not_ 416's decision to make. It all depended on which pyre 45 decided to throw them on.

'_Reloading!'_ G11 pinged as soon as she ducked back behind the UAZ, pulling a long stick of her ammunition from the trunk. 416 let out a scream of frustration as she took her turn suppressing the hallway.

'_Sis-'_ 9 privately tapped on their network. 45 knew what her sister was going to say, and put a halt to 9's thought.

45 was stuck. There was no way to get exactly what she wanted, no matter how many times she ran the predictions. So how could she get the _most_ of what she wanted? Subroutines began spinning even as lashes of energy started to get _discomfortingly_ close to her cover.

"Can we just play dead?" G11 cried, taking up her firing position again, "Pretending to be dead is a lot like sleeping."

_**[Is the mission worth it?] **_

That voice in the back of her digimind- that damnable whisper cloaked by redacted data. 45 had come to loathe it.

_**[Is it worth your team's lives?]**_

She wanted to snap back at it, but it was just a ghost program, it wasn't as if it could hold a conversation. The only thing 45 could do was try and bury it under processes.

_**[Just swallow your pride! Remember when you used to be such a crybaby?]**_

"Unlock my fucking grenade trigger, Forty-five!" 416 shouted, a sudden surge of Sangvis units pushing through the kill funnel, lead by a formation of bullet-ridden, but functioning, Guard models.

One minute. The door was warping now- beginning to melt, the orange light of it now back-lighting them for Sangvis visual sensors.

_Bait the Manticores in, and slip out…?_ No result- they most likely shared targeting data with the infantry units, meaning there was no hiding from them.

_Fight through to the Griffin reinforcements…?_ But then they were in Griffin custody, and that meant a full shakedown if they wound up back on a Griffin base.

But _that_ was better than dying here. The only major variable came from if she could hide the data from Griffin probing...

What was it that humans tended to say in this situation? Unprompted, her digi-mind searched through a catalogue of idioms. _Our of the frying pan, into the fire?_ No no… _The lesser of two evils._

45 swore loudly, enough to even get 416 to raise an eyebrow.

"First we go one way, then we go the other, then back again." 45 grumbled. She focused so much of her processing to her tactical assessment program, but for some inexplicable reason her digimind kept focusing on _how_ this situation unfolded.

9 could have slipped back into the bunker alone with the repair kit… there was no reason for the team to have come, let alone take something as noisy as the UAZ to get here. Calling Griffin using their emergency frequency was just as suspicious, and either act alone could have been dismissible.

But both at the same time?

It was a master-stroke in trapping 45, limiting their tactical options down to…

Down to…

_**[You can't abandon them.]**_ The ghost whispered, _**[As much as you want revenge, you can't abandon them.]**_

"We're fighting through." 45 reluctantly gave 416 her full permissions; ammo conservation restrictions, tactical shot-calling restrictions, autonomous command restrictions… all of them recalled. She functionally unshackled the attack dog now, and 416 was practically foaming at the mouth. "Fire it." She ordered.

'_We meet up with Griffin and have them escort us from the bunker. We break from them as soon as we can- scatter if we have to.' _45 sent the order out, ensuring that plan was hard-coded using the command module. No insubordination this time around, no reluctance to it could be pinged back.

The only part of the plan that 45 made sure _didn't_ get sent was the dirtiest part- one that would surely have drawn the ire of her teammates. This was a mission flagged '_at all costs'_-

If that meant _removing_ the Griffin dolls escorting them…

Well then 45 would do the dirty deed herself. It wouldn't be the first time. It wouldn't be the last time.

* * *

Mark 23 slipped into the tunnel when her dummy reported that there was no threat. Despite the _very_ limited parameter of "no threat" to the simplistic AI of the dummy, it was certainly clear that the bunker was not secure. Recent evidence of combat- thermals were picking up heat off of shell casings and there was evidence of residual blast damage- not to mention the scattered parts of Sangvis dolls still fresh with leaking and spilled conversion fluid. As she slipped further and further into the dark, the chattering echoes of machine-gun fire from above bled away.

23 put a mute on the network so she didn't have to deal with the current combat data being flung about between the proper members of Five. Less "noise" for her processors to deal with meant she could focus on the here and now- as well as focus on her _darling_.

Emergency lighting was activated, command room was open. Quick scans showed nothing regarding her current mission, though there was evidence of biological material in the hall-

"Darling, there is evidence of combat- and dried blood?" 23 radioed to the commander, "Permission to detach from my team and investigate for the VIP?"

"_Granted. Be careful, Twenty-three."_

"Of course I will, darling. Don't worry!" The thought of the commander worry about her sent a happy jolt through Mark 23's entire system, giving her just that little boost she needed to overcome just _how_ dangerous of a situation she was in.

She sent her dummies in first, of course, making sure that the stack moved with at least a minimal cover. She didn't have as great of control over them as other dolls like Welrod or Five-seveN… but they could serve as an early warning system.

"Command room is clear- two dolls in need of rescue." She marked the information, readying to send it to 1911 in Echelon Two- whenever they got down here. The signal _had_ come from the command room initially- and it still was… but it wasn't as strong. It was like it was simply being relayed- bounced off of the emitter in the bunker. That already was a red flag for this whole mission- but her darling would need more evidence before calling it off.

More evidence- more casings. 5.56 and 9 millimeter brass… a 40 millimeter grenade casing- whoever it was that did the fighting here _had_ to be Griffin, they were the only ones readily supplied with Western armaments in the red zones.

It was the _***pap pap* **_sound that caught 23's attentions, causing her tail to go rigid in alarm. A ways down, echoing through at least… one bend in the hall? Suppressed gunfire, and moving _away_ from her.

"If these VIP's want to be rescued, they could at least _stay_ _still_." 23 sighed. Something in her predictive process told her to wait for Two to back her up; after all the old saying was that curiosity killed the cat.

What would her darling do…? Hmm…

He would advance to the VIP and secure them first, _then_ wait for Two to reinforce and extract. The mission came before personal safety- especially when the mission was to rescue others.

23 moved as quietly as she could past security barriers. They were not unlike the ones they had on their base- the ones that they used during intruder drills. Except whoever had manned this barrier had failed in holding it. The bodies had caught her eye, and a quick scan certainly raised alarms.

"D-darling. I think… um-"

"_What, 23?" _Her darling commander's stress levels had elevated once again, and made 23's heart curl over itself- at least that was how she imagined the feeling she got from hearing it.

"I-I've got a Griffin commander KIA." 23 knelt over the corpses. The body was desiccated- they had been dead for a few months, maybe more.

"_..."_ Her radio sizzled, the commander's channel open but her darling silent.

"_Send an image."_

"A-are you sure, it's… messy."

"_Send it, Twenty-three."_

23 focused on the body, her eyes adjusting to the dim light to set a better picture. Curiously, the thermal signature of the body was long cold. This was not the VIP.

Still, she snapped the picture, though she took a second with the thermal readings before sending them both over to command.

"_If you can, dog-tags or ID badge."_ The commander was asking a lot of her, and the reluctance in his voice gave 23 that little bit of spark to get her through such a grisly task.

"Umm… darling?" 23 hesitated. Her digimind was whispering to her, urging her to move on… but would the commander let her? "I think I should push forward. The VIP is still isn't secured-"

"_...Do it."_

He took her suggestion! Her _darling_ took _her_ suggestion! Her excitement drove her legs to move double-time towards the sound of a gun battle. She rounded the corner before all of her dummies had even responded-

Straight into the rear of Sangvis Ferri Vespid. The combat droid was focused down the hall- the rear of a queue of other Sangvis droids all marching to the same spot-

Reflexively, Mark 23 snapped off two rounds, center-mass in the back-

Unsuppressed shots.

This was supposed to be a loud mission- she didn't think to pack it… The rearmost element of Sangvis androids turned, their weapons already warmed up. 23 didn't have time to fully activate her combat programs, squeezing off two more wild shots before she slipped back around the corner. Her dummies caught up with her the moment the dread really sank in.

She was a support model- designed to help targeting calculations in combat and data analysis outside of it-

The first Vespid rounded the corner, plasma rifle warmed and glowing. 23's combat protocols had kicked in, but there was so much of her processing being eaten up by other programs that her shots were shaky at best- but there were five of her to the one Vespid. Bullets cracked and ricocheted off the walls, some even finding a comfortable home inside the torso of the Sangvis doll- but the thing was damaged, not _dead_.

23 retreated further, past her dummies as the first lashes of plasma came streaking down the hall, some of the shots tearing into the closest dummy. The smell of melted synthetic flesh and plastics as the bits blown off of 23's doppelganger scattered down the hall.

But she could do this! She focused her neural-load to her weapon imprints-

When a second… a third… a fourth Sangvis doll rounded the corner behind the first. To say that 23 felt dread would be… well... roughly accurate. Even with the mind-map backup… losing oneself was never described as "pleasant" by any doll unfortunate enough to experience frame-death.

She shrank as best she could, commanding her dummies to take what little cover there was when a deep _***Ptoop***_ punctuated down from the cross-hall. Even from a distance and distorted by the walls here, it was a distinct sound that every tactical doll had in their data.

The blast tore into the corridor, and 23 could _hear_ the devastation it had caused.

It just didn't help her at the moment- the Sangvis dolls at the corner undamaged by the blast.

23 retreated as best she could, hugging the wall and trying to avoid the enemy's angle as her second dummy was torn apart by plasma… then the third… as long as her dummies kept firing they would be prioritized over her mainframe that was scrambling away.

"Get down." A gruff, authoritative voice bellowed. 23 didn't even need a command impulse to motivate her to do so; the moment she hit the metal walkway concussive snaps of rifle fire punched out from the dark. The smashing of processor-casing and the thud of synthetic bodies told 23 all she needed to know about the status of her pursuers.

"Miss Thompson, is that you?" 23 called out to the dolls approaching her.

"You went on ahead, kid. That wasn't smart." The leader of Echelon Two helped 23 get to her feet as the rest of her team continued down the hall. They certainly looked as if they took a beating- M14 only had two dummies left, Mac-11 and M1911 looking as equally banged up. The only one who was relatively fine was Thompson herself- most likely that shield device of hers.

"It's all yours then." 23 sighed in relief, though she had no actual lungs to do so with. She managed to pull herself together enough to start making a dignified retreat to her team.

"Where you going, kiddo?" Thompson grabbed 23 by the tail, sending a shock of embarrassment through the pistol doll's systems, "You didn't pass the intel."

More Sangvis dolls rounded the corner- were they… retreating? Or were they advancing _this_ direction?

"There's no time!" Mark 23 shouted, slipping behind Thompson as the bolts of energy came raining in.

And Thompson laughed, blasting back from the hip- straight out of the old gangster reels from the West. She _actually_ laughed in the face of enemy fire! Her mainframe was at the head of their formation too- was she just mad?

"Mac, cover the side passage with the Oldie. Fourteen cover the main lane." Thompson shouted back even as M14's bullets cracked past her- why she didn't use her network to send the orders also confounded 23.

"Kiddo, you're on me."

"W-what? But my team-"

"-Is doin' just fine upstairs. You're an offensive handgun, so lets go on the offensive!"

Thompson sent the permission request to be linked with 23's targeting system, and for that microsecond, 23 hesitated. She wanted to be more than _just_ the targeting doll- more than just the night vision…

But going alone had only got her shot up. She accepted the invitation, snapping into Thompson's network.

'_C'mon. You said time is important. Your fire command's invaluable, so lets go waste some SF!'_ Thomson pinged.

_I'm invaluable_. Her digimind looped that sentiment over and over.

_I'm invaluable. Darling will always need me. I'm invaluable._

23 slipped behind Thompson, connecting her ocular sensor data to the team leader's weapon imprint. Her pistol might as well be good for show, but if 23 could hone someone else into the killing instrument- if _she_ could be the crux of the mission- well surely her darling was insightful enough to see just _who_ caused the mission to succeed.

Her processors warmed up- to the point of causing her to pant the excess heat. With no dummies to offload the processing to, it was solely up to her mainframe to crank the data… but her Fire Control N program made Thompson all the more aggressive- all the more accurate with every burst- exactly what they needed to drive through and _finish_ this mission.

And then darling would praise her. And then darling would praise her. And then darling would praise _her-_

* * *

'_I won't even begin to ask why we're going back the way we came.'_ 416's frustrations pulsed through the network, and there wasn't much 45 could do to suppress them. It wasn't as if 416 was going to go against the orders- but logic let her certainly be fickle about it.

The grenade had cleared part of the hallway, and a quick targeting sweep revealed that, though thinned, there was still ongoing combat- it was just that SF attentions were now split, going from the pincer to the pinched. The sound of gunfire meant that Griffin units were close.

Despite her damage, 45 pushed through the dark at the head of her team, closing in to engage the last bits of scrap left in the halls- then she'd be free to plan the next move. Sliding behind the enemy formation was easy enough, they were distracted with shooting down the corridor- returning fire against Griffin dolls.

Disregarding the IFF warning, 45 squeezed off a quick burst where the rest of her team had hesitated. Two of the shots hit the back of a Ripper- but two more just happened to be fired outside her margin of error- _just_ past the Ripper-

A shield went up, the bullets distorted from their trajectory by the force of it. Internally 45 clicked her tongue- so much for scoring an "accidental" kill.

"Hold fire! Friendlies." Their "rescuers" had dashed forward, expertly... if not the slightest bit crudely, dispatching Sangvis dolls with savage close-quarters bursts. The pop- the decibel crack of the rounds sounded like that familiar .45 ACP. Four seconds and that blue glowing orb had snapped away, revealing a Thompson model T-doll and a handgun behind her.

"Your IFF signal checks out. You must be the VIP's." The Thompson doll hadn't lowered her guard, the barrel of the old Chicago Typewriter still very much aimed at 45 and the rest of her team.

"Oh, VIP's?" 45 coolly responded. Despite the limp and clear damage, she postured herself to display as much authority as possible; she hadn't lowered her weapon, either.

"I'm glad we've been upgraded to _very_ important."

"T-dolls huh, thought we'd be extracting humans." Thompson's gaze lingered just that little bit longer than normal, most likely trying to match doll model to an IOP database.

"Boss, VIP secured. They're dolls-" She spoke clearly into her radio, making a show of it.

45 had quickly fabricated preliminary scan data, scrambling to counterfeit Griffin ID's to cover up 404's scrubbed ones.

_**[Assessment] **_**Unit:** **Unidentified - Tactical Zenner Connection detected…** Estimated six-doll team. _No combined efficiency data...__

_**[Assessment] **_**Unit: Thompson - Full Link…** Combat Efficiency 5000 _Caution_ _advised_.

_**[Assessment] **_**Unit: SOCOM Mark 23 - Damaged… **Combat Efficiency 3000 _Caution advised_.

45 frowned internally. Even against a Mark 23 her systems bet against her- either she was underestimating them from personal experience _or_ she was underestimating just how damaged she was. It hadn't factored in the element of surprise though… for when their guards were down-

"No time for formalities, lets _go _already." 416 had shoved past their escorts- her own way of asserting what authority she could. Instead of intimidating the team leader, it only seemed to galvanize the sub-machine gun doll further. The short-haired doll grinned wider- clearly firing messages across a closed network to her teammates. If 45 could crack their local network she could redact what she needed to-

"Echelon Five is running low on ammo. We have to extract." An M14 at the end of the hallway announced.

"There's another team here?" The new information startled 45's plans. A damaged echelon they could handle, but two-

"Who do you think's been holdin' down the fort? Your team lit up the sector like a damn bonfire. Now all the moths are coming to flutter and burn on it." The buzz of a radio pulled Thompson away for a moment, the voice on the other end came in hazy at first as the team leader answered with a "Yeah boss?" 45 tuned her audio, honing in on that radio conversation.

"_Hot extraction. VIP's on the chopper once the supply is dropped. Your team and Five are pushing for a different landing zone."_

_That_ voice. The orders came in crystal clear to 45's audio… only because of the _familiarity_. It was the one that haunted 45.

She glanced at her teammates. G11 showed no response but 416 had stuttered, her eyes going wide for the fraction of a second; she recognized the voice pattern as well. 45 should have blacked _her_ memory as well- but 416 was less of a problem- her digi-mind was rock-solid stable due to its framework. 45 turned an eye to her sister.

Curiously however, 9 did not react as 45 had expected her to. Her sister perked up, the curiosity clear in those wide eyes of hers… but it was clear she didn't recognize the voice.

_I should have killed him-_

_**[You couldn't kill him.]**_

_Only because I took his name off the list._

_**[**_**-**_**because it was the right thing to do**_**.**_**]**_

_Humans are disposable, they use us up, so-_

_**[-but would he?]**_

45 locked up, using every ounce of her processing to try and shunt those battling thoughts away.

"Sis, are you alright?" 9 grabbed hold of 45, taking her sister's arm and lifting the side with the damaged leg.

"Leg." 45 grunted, playing up the hardware problem with 9's help. Part of the act was true, another bit feigned. Play up that the UMP-45 frame was technically an "inferior" model, outdated SMG doll, lower their guard more.

"Even more reason to do a hot-extraction. You won't make it to the original LZ on a bum leg like that." Thompson grinned, "You talk a big game, but you need to know your limits, missy."

45 gritted her teeth. The Thompson didn't need to know that 45 had calculated at least five different ways that 45 could help her experience frame-death.

Thompson frowned, though not because she somehow miraculously cracked 45's inner mind-map. "Pecheneg isn't responding." She sighed, glancing up the ladder. There still was the sporadic rattling and growl of machine-gun fire, so they hadn't been overrun. If anything, it sounded as if they had beat back whatever was crawling through the woods, the bursts becoming less and less frequent.

"She's caught up in combat again." The Mark 23 responded dispassionately, "I can't even get back on their network."

"Friendlies coming up!" Thompson shouted at the highest volume level she could set to, though casting a quick glare to 45, undoubtedly still sour about the whole "friendly fire" bit from before. She then motioned for 45 and her team to go first.

Again, it bit at 45, limiting her tactical options. Sandwiched again… but between "friendlies" this time. Friendlies for now.

And when she had ascended from that hole, a whole new set of problems. Machine-and-shotgun team forming a -to a preliminary scan- _damn_ fine perimeter. Slipping this particular snare would be… difficult at best. They were on a heightened security protocol, and clearly were firing at _anything_ that moved.

The whole area outside of the cabin had been red-zoned by them.

"Pecheneg!" Thompson had to physically wrangle the doll who 45 marked as the mainframe unit, forcibly pulling the goggles off of the doll's face to get her attention. The way those ocular sensors were widened to their maximum exposure- twitching to every micro-movement showed just how lost she was to her combat protocols.

"Small clearing to the southwest!" The Thompson yelled into the Pecheneg's audio sensors.  
"_Da_. Clear." The Pecheneg gave 45 a cold hard glare before pulling her goggles back over her eyes. "South and West show no movement. Only north. You waste time talking."

"If you'd just open up your network you wouldn't have to _tell_ us." The Thompson growled back, motioning for everyone to follow after her.

"Just get them on the chopper and get our ammo." The PKP shouted back, drowning out any chance of a retort with a chopping burst of machine-gun fire.

The perimeter was made to keep Sangvis out, little did these Griffin puppets know how it hemmed 404 in. They wouldn't be able to get back to their truck, but with the disruptions between the two Griffin teams _maybe_ they might have the chance to make a break for it- fall behind for just a second or two in the woods and then slip away… 45 began to run the scenarios.

_**[Run] **_Success… 10%. Traceable broadcast, under direct observation from drone.

45 flinched at her own process. The data… it had to be flawed, right?

9 was still broadcasting-

9 _was still broadcasting!_ Were 45's systems so taxed that she hadn't checked if 9 was following through with the order?

Just what was her sister up to? Was she trying to compromise the mission for the sake of whatever ghost was whispering to _her_? A part of 45's priority directives had her instinctively tighten her grip over her weapon, the barrel- though down, still sweeping in 9's direction-

She had to fight the impulse- she had to fight the programming...

The thud of chopper blades... the rush of artificial wind as the prop-blast washing over everyone and drowning out the rattling of the machine-gun ring. The occasional bolt of energy came in for the chopper, some missing, some biting into the light armor of the hull.

But it still made a hasty touchdown- _barely_. There was no chance to run. Five crates shoved out from the open door, a human crew chief beckoning them onboard.

"Get on the chopper." The Thompson ushered, just the slightest bit forcibly through a voice-boosted modulator. Her dummies were unpacking spare ammo from those crates- it was clear that they were staying to hold the perimeter. "What're you waiting for? Get on!"

The entire team resisted, it was against 45's command module order. The Thompson's emotion module was unguarded -escalated even- preliminary scans showed the impatience and irritation; the VIP's were putting her team at risk by delaying…

9 stepped up into the helicopter first, wordlessly offering her hand to 45. Like a fraying rope, the rest of the team began shaking the command module's demands, with 416 lifting 11 into the helicopter before leaping in herself.

She had shaken 45's programming again- like 9's digimind was _destined_ to always wind up in the same configuration. If she had, there was no way that 9 could ever forgive 45. There was no reason to trust 45.

_**[I trust you, Nine. I'm sorry I ever doubted you… I wish I had the strength… to say that… to your face…]**_

Her own words, recorded from her voice module, played out in her own head.

Why?

Why was she this way? Was it her programming? Was it fragmentation? Was it- _**[Redacted]**_...

Her own mind was betraying her.

"We don't complete the mission unless we complete it _together_, sis." 9's words were crystal clear. Over the deafening thud of the chopper blades, past the computation haze that 45's digimind was caught in. It was stern- filled to the brim with confidence… confidence in 45. Confidence in the 45 that was her _sister_.

2.3 seconds had passed. 2.3 seconds of hesitation driven solely by emotion. 45's motors stuttered against what, according to her digimind, was the only option left, held in place by the sheer… the sheer mudslide of reluctance that roiled out of her emotion module. It was illogical- she had come up with a backup plan to hide that data, she was running bug-generation software based on the network data she scraped off of these teams, _that_ part of her digi-mind that she couldn't escape from was already getting the next set of contingencies ready. She couldn't even _shut_ the damn thing off.

It was 2.3 seconds of completely irrational, completely _unlike_ everything she had molded herself into.

It took 2.3 seconds for 45 to take her sister's hand, having 9 haul her into the chopper and embrace her. The relief she felt… it washed over every circuit, every emulated synapse, quelling those voices from behind that confidential partition in the back of her digi-mind.

And despite the wonderful feeling of relief and safety, that stem of darkness lingered.

"Right." 45 muttered as the door slid shut, trapping her within, "Together."


	22. Chapter 18: Griffin - The Commander

It _was_ a UMP model- but was it really them? He had the "VIP's" locked down in electronic quarantine, but the UMP45 model was in such bad shape that the automated system had pushed it to the repair bay before he could override it.

He had 36 on high alert while monitoring the base's network, making sure that the maid-doll kept herself isolated from the network as well. All the other dolls on the mission would have to be quarantined as well when they returned; and as much as it pained him to do that to them, he needed to be _absolutely_ sure.

"Kalina, if you can, dig up our old analogue short-wave radios just in case the base communications go down." The commander checked his sidearm; cocked and locked in the holster- again _just_ in case.

Everything was _just in case_.

"Got it, commander… but do you really think that it's her?" Kalina held her clipboard to her chest, hiding the shortness of breath that her nerves undoubtedly struck her with. After all, Kalina had suffered the most when 45 and her team had scrambled all the data in their last base.

"If it _is_, then all the precaution is justified."

That was what he kept telling himself as he made his way down to the repair bay. The base was just so unnaturally silent, so perfectly still in this odd, time-lost stasis.

"What a fitting setting for a reunion." The commander mused to himself as the bay doors slid open. The bay was mostly dark, the exception being a single station lit up- indicating it was occupied.

And from it, those haunting amber eyes. The way that they constantly scanned, ever vigilant of every little movement in the room. The commander knew them well. The doll that they belonged to shifted slightly on the repair gurney to face him, favoring her undamaged hip-joint.

"Well, now isn't this an embarrassing reunion, commander?" UMP-45's smile was cold, her words tinged with whiffs of self-deprecation.

"Then your control over your emotion module must have been damaged as well." The commander crossed his arms, "I don't feel embarrassed at all."

"Well, you don't have your liquid ports exposed for every pervert to see, now do you?" 45 coolly pointed at the pumping tubes attached to her "clavicle"- where the artery would be on a human. She covered her mouth, letting out a false gasp, "Commander, are you a pervert?"

"Forty-five."

The doll did not falter at his harsh tone, instead shifting herself once again to lay back on the slab. With the fluid top-off was almost complete, 45 tilted her head once again, watching as the commander moved to stand before her.

She was a captive audience now, unable to stop the repair process even if she _could _attempt to flee with her limited mobility. The countless questions he had-

45 shifted the last bit of her shirt off as one of repair-bay's arms lowered from the rack above.

The commander's words choked in his throat.

The scars on her epidermal surface. Countless maintenance jobs, both professional and hack-job alike. The gaping hole in her shoulder and her hip-

"Aya! The commander _is_ a pervert." 45 flatly cried, not bothering to cover her nudity- though there was nothing _to_ cover up. 45 was clearly nothing like a civilian doll in both frame and in mind map.

"_Error. Unmatched doll model. Please check IOP manual." _The repair bay terminal chirped, red light blinking.

The commander had always suspected, the way that 45 was always so secretive during her maintenance and repair- always with 9 or her other teammates at her side, and always when the bay was empty.

"Well now. Since Nine is no-where to be found, can you assist me, commander?" 45 pointed to the pile of her gear at the base of the slab. "Small, red plastic case in my rear-belt pouch. Has four thumb drives in it, look for the one that says DSI-eight repair protocol."

Curiosity drove the commander to follow 45's directions without questioning the doll. He rifled through her pack, but could feel her unblinking gaze upon him. The thumb drive was exactly where 45 had said, seated with three other similarly labeled thumb-drives.

"It's best not to ask questions." 45's voice stayed his curiosity in the other thumb-drives and caused him to snap the case shut. "Just plug that into the terminal, it will handle my repairs."

The commander did not budge, and 45's eyes did not break from him. There was no sign of nervousness or anger at his defiance to her instruction. For once, he wanted that satisfaction, but that was because he was a flawed human. Sure, he had _forgiven _her before, but now he had a chance for some answers. He waggled the thumb drive before 45's face.

"And how do I know that this won't subvert our network?"

"Your faith in my skills are quite the compliment." 45 smiled that frigid, forced curl of her lips, "However, I haven't quite had the time to check your base's network, nor write the code for a worm to infiltrate it." She pointed to the gaping holes in her frame. "I'm not exactly at peak performance right now."

Her logic was agreeable.

And it was 45.

It was still 45.

The commander sighed as he moved to plug the thumb drive in but instinct froze his hand just before the drive fully seated. He pulled back from the console and made for the repair bay's intercom, all the while fully aware of 45's unerring gaze upon him.

"Thirty-six." The intercom clicked as he hailed his adjutant.

"_Yes, master?" _His faithful maid's voice crackled back.

"I need you to isolate repair station three from the network. Can you do that?"

The intercom hissed momentarily before 36 chimed back.

"_...It is done, master. I will set up a dummy barrier between station three and the rest of the network as well, just in case."_

"So you don't trust me?" 45 grinned from her slab, "I'm hurt, commander."

"Cautionary measures. I don't know what you might have picked up out there."

"Picked up? Like I'm a stray?" 45 hissed, bristling like a angered cat. Still, the commander ignored her, moving to run the mystery program. Just as 45 said, as soon as he had inserted the drive fully, it had taken over the repair-bay's protocol.

As the bay's arms went about their work, the two quietly watching one another, waiting to see who cracked first.

Surprisingly, 45 was the first to break the frigidity between the two.

"Still the same Thirty-six?" She asked, watching him from the corner of her eyes.

"Yes." The commander was still wary of 45. The doll couldn't dive his mind like she could other androids, but certainly she had all manner of interrogation and information extraction programs if she was the black-ops unit he suspected her to be. "Can't say the same about you." He sighed, looking over that tiny, scarred body of 45's. While he had only caught glimpses of it before, it was clear there were "wounds" that had occurred since she had left.

"Oh, well I'm quite the same up top." 45 couldn't point to her head with her arm being worked on, but they way that she moved- the commander could pick up the implication. "Some base you've got, hmm? More than that moldy old bunker your command stuck you in, at least. Newer dolls too, from what I saw- IOP finally letting you get the good stock, huh?" 45 smiled. It was a subtle thing, tinged with nostalgia. It was _honest_.

Seeing that smile again… the commander had to admit that it lowered his defenses somewhat. He felt his shoulders relax, his posture less rigid. The relief of knowing that _she_ was still in there, despite all the barriers that she threw up between them.

"Well, a lot has happened." He sighed, leaning against the back of the console, watching as the arms of the repair bay got to work. "You once told me to be more ambitious. I got it."

"A good commander must have ambitions." 45 closed her eyes as she spoke. "Without ambition, what else will give you the drive to live?"

"To protect what I have."

"Ah, but to have, you must be ambitious to acquire it in the first place." 45 smiled wide, the peacefulness gone- replaced by a conniving, fox-like smirk.

"And what about you?" The commander tried to pivot 45's logic back on her, but it only made that grin wider.

"Confidential based on my clientele. I have my honor as a mercenary to consider."

"Mercenary work, huh?" The commander chuckled to himself with a shake of his head, "You could have plenty of that _here_."

"You're too soft-hearted for certain jobs. Some require a _doll's_ touch." 45 replied coolly, "Which is why sometimes it's best not to ask."

"I take it you're not sticking around after you're all fixed up."

45 frowned. He had hit right on the money to get her to react so sharply.

"Did you discuss it with Nine?"

Again 45 reacted before she could reign in her emotion module, her eyes wide and intently focused on him. With 45, it was anyone's guess what the emotion _was_, but if the commander had to hazard a guess, it was anger from having a pin stuck in a sore spot.

"Nine knows." 45 turned back to staring straight forward as the repair station continued its work. He had inadvertently caused her to throw up that wall again.

"Eleven and Four-sixteen?"

"They know as well. We're currently on mission- this is just a side-stop."

"Mhmm." The commander leant back against a pillar, quietly regarding his former team leader, "You know, knowing what I know now… I owe a lot to you and Nine. Your expertise helped me land this position."

"Ohh? And how are you going to repay me?"

The commander motioned towards the repair bay, expressing wordlessly exactly how he was paying her assistance back. Before he could say anything else, 45 cut him off.

"You might as well clear out the Echelon Three's dorm," 45 watched the commander from the corner of her eye, "We're not coming back in a permanent capacity, you'd best just fill in the team slot."

An jolt struck down the commander's spine, sparked by instant suspicion. Undoubtedly 45 had read into him, because she grinned wide and knowing.

"It doesn't take a hacking wizard to count the number of team networks you have. The Three slot is conspicuously empty, commander." 45 closed her eyes, relaxing on the slab as the automation went about milling a replacement part for her hip.

"Oh don't be like that." 45 opened her unscarred eye, the grin softening into a relaxed smile- her _real_ smile, "When I cracked your network last time, I had a year to write the code. I can't do that kind of work in a few hours. Besides, you have all these fancy new firewalls and dummy barriers- really moving up to the big leagues now."

"You could say that." The commander shrugged. He couldn't exactly reveal to 45 the _extent_ of operations- in particular his partnership with 16lab, though he had a feeling that 45 would find out eventually- but let that be _her_ breech of confidentiality, not his. "We are making offensive gains against SF." Was all he could think of to say.

"I heard... through the grape vine, of course." 45 winced as the station began removing her damaged limb, causing the commander to instinctively fall by her side, "I forgot to shut off my limbic- oh don't give me _that_ look."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

45 smiled using that cold mask of hers once again, her eyes darting to the commander's waist.

"You came to my side so readily when you thought I was in pain, and yet you are carrying a weapon with an intent to kill. I hope you're not so sentimental that you won't be able to pull the trigger when you need to." Her tone was mocking, sure, but the commander _knew_ why.

"_If_ I need to." He corrected.

45 had no retort except the roll of her eyes.

"While you're at it, you should defrag yourself too. Your neural cloud shouldn't be neglected, either." The commander watched her expression _very_ carefully. Sure, she was an android- a _machine_ that simulated emotions… but even one as proficient in acting as UMP-45, she still had her tells; like now, when she went so _perfectly_ still.

"I can't. I can't risk losing them."

"Memory fragments?"

45 didn't answer, but that was answer enough. A cold silence fell between the two again like a stage curtain. Perhaps it was the end of the scene, time to move on.

"_Master. Two and Five have found Echelon One's position. They are moving to engage and extract."_ 36's announcement echoed through the repair bay, pulling the commander to the closest intercom.

"Good. I know she's going to be upset about it, but have Fal retreat alongside Two and Five." The commander took the moment of distraction to simply breathe deep for a moment- to get out from under the overwhelming presence that 45 imposed on him. With a deep breath, he spun back, ready for another match of round-about-interrogation with 45, only to stop dead.

45's head was twitching slightly; a micro-stutter that usually happened in doll's that were suffering processing overloads or overheats... but he _knew_ 45's neural loads from her time as one of his team leaders- there was no way a simple conversation could cause that kind of processor stress. Her eyes were wide, and her expressions were shifting rapidly between what the commander guessed were surprise and a small sprinkle of regret.

"Did… is FAL…"

"Her and Team FN are- well they are in field right now. When they return, you can thank Fal yourself."

"For what?"

"She's the one who picked up your signal."

45 went silent, though the rigidity that had struck her so suddenly had fled her systems just as quick. She seemed more… relaxed? Well, as relaxed as a T-doll with heightened combat protocols could be... and that was a reminder that made the commander's spine shiver- 45 had kill protocols.

And the way that 45 bristled… she felt threatened here. She was treating _his_ base as hostile territory. He drew his sidearm and, before 45 could let another snide comment loose, he dropped the magazine into his waiting hand and cleared its chamber. Even as he hit the decocking lever, 45 gave him a look as if to ask, '_Are you stupid or something?'_

"A home, when you _want_ it, Forty-five. I promised you that." Gently he stroked 45's head, the synthetic strands of her wiry grey hair all coarse and dirty from who knows how many weeks in-field. Her expression had softened slightly, though like a plastic tupper left just a _bit_ too long in a microwave, it was _off_ by a degree.

"I'm not Nine, commander. Head-pats are more _her_ idea of safety and comfort."

She didn't frown, though. Nor did she move to try and escape from it.

"Well, what is yours then?"

"My gun in my hand and my enemies dead, commander."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't do either of those." The commander smiled, crossing his arms as he sighed. "I _can_ at least release your team from quarantine while you repair, perhaps they might stop by and visit you for the next…" He checked the timer on the station, "Four hours? Speaking of which, I need to talk to Nine-"

"Wait." 45 unexpectedly lunged from the slab and causing him to leap back. She grabbed for the commander despite being held in place. Was that… panic? Her eyes were serious, sharpened and serious in only that way that a machine could deliver. "I want a better reward- from before."

"You don't have a position to bargain, Forty-five." The commander sighed, staying _just_ out of her grasp for the moment longer. Was she just trying to stall for some reason? Were the other members of her team up to something?

"The ghosts in my digi-mind need to know… to get them to shut up." She stared at him, those amber camera lenses of her eyes shaking- jittering as if… as if she were a human gripped in the throes of madness. It was clear that she was fragmented now, but before he could suggest that was the cause of her problem, 45 reached out for him again, this time more gently than before.

"I want to know if we really are the same."

The commander scoffed. For a constructed intelligence driven purely by logic and calculated data, the answer should have been obvious- they were _nothing_ alike.

"And how do you propose I do that? Strap myself to a surgical gurney and get cut open so you can see?" He mused. Whatever was causing this would be solved by a digi-mind defragmentation, perhaps a hard reboot of her systems… but that was up to 45, not him so-

"Why did they call you the Ghost of the Urals?"

The commander froze at the moniker. All of the _unpleasant_ memories that it brought up-

The ones that he had worked so hard to put behind him- for the sake of both his new job, and the family he had made here. The look in 45's eyes though… he had never seen her so…

So determined? So _desperate_? So unsure...

"Fine." The commander held no love for that old title- fitting that he could bury alongside 45's curiosity. He grabbed a stool from beside the console, dragging it over to seat himself in front of 45. The doll before him, despite missing an arm and a leg, shifted to lean forward as best she could.

"What do you want to know first?"


	23. Interlude: Ghost of the Urals (5)

Fresh snowfall. The people of the mountain, regardless of the tribe or affiliation, all had a respect for the snow. It kept food fresh, it melted to precious water, it helped trackers find prey in the harsh winter.

It helped defend them from their enemies.

There was no worse time to be a government hound in the Urals when winter came. The wolves of the Eastern Liberation Front always made sure that the blood shed by the people of the mountain in the spring and summer were paid back tenfold in the winter. Two villages had been burned last season, purged because they were "contaminated"- and they were the most accepting of the government's return. If that was how they treated their collaborators… well most of the villages that the Ghost had visited welcomed him and his militia with open arms.

He adjusted his balaclava, pulling the white edges of its eye-holes out of his peripheral. The masks were a necessary annoyance, partially for the camoflauge, more for the anonymity- more than one FSB assassination attempt had been thwarted simply because he looked just like any other militiaman- a single sprout in a field full or weeds.

"Nikita, Luka, stop pacing so much. You are leaving tracks." The Ghost snapped at two boys who were nervously fidgeting back and forth on the trail. They looked wholly out of place next to the Ghost. Winter coats lined with fur instead of the white-painted poncho, warm hand-woven shirts and pants instead of the old surplus winter fatigues. The only thing the three shared in common were the AKM's slung from the shoulder.

A lone figure, clad in white jogged down the trail, not even bothering to hide his prints in the snow. An old, worn AK at his side reflected the man's age- the graying hair, the gnarled time-ravaged skin, the hidden scars from the Collapse- from before even the War.

"What do you have, Viklav?"

"Twelve strong, boss. They've got one of those new combat robots at the front." The old wolf reported as he stopped to pull a set of snowshoes out of his pack.

"Burn team?"

"Don't look like it. Hounds by the smell of them. Probing for a hole in the line."

The Ghost did not worry one bit at the news, but his newbloods Luka and Nikita exchanged worried glances. These village boys would have to learn sooner or later… and it was better to learn under the tutelage of a hunter than it was to go out into the woods with a Kalashnikov and expect to come back alive.

"The plan is the same- if anything it will be simpler." The Ghost looked over the ambush location thoughtfully, growing more and more sure of the plan as he began to nod to himself. The four hides that flanked the trail were disguised well enough, and once things kicked off, it wouldn't matter much. You grab them by the belt, throw them to the ground, and tear them apart- it matters not what kind of toys they bring.

"Once Vasili has them under fire, they will try to find cover on the flanks and push up the new toy to engage him. Detonate the IED on it." The Ghost shrugged, "The only thing that changes from the original plan is fewer IED casualties. We simply apply hand-grenades instead; the results will be the same."

Viklav shrugged, motioning for the two village boys to go and sit back down in their fox-holes. The Ghost's reputation preceded him, as both a blessing and a curse. Wherever he went in the Urals, he was welcomed as a venerated hero- one of the few fighting the good fight still. Men and boys flocked to him, eager to join his militia-

But almost all of them were greenhorns. Some were hunters, but not hunters of _men_. It was a grim lesson passed down to the Ghost by old men like Viklav, and it was a lesson that that he tried to preach throughout the Urals.

To take up arms was to take up damnation, to walk a path.

"Boss." Viklav tapped his wristwatch- a prize pried off a hound countless years ago.

They had roughly fifteen more minutes if the hounds were still following the game trail, and considering the city-dogs' lack of woodsmanship, this was going to be the case. They had at least learned that to wander off the trail was to risk getting mired in the snow drifts, and so far snow-shoes and skis were still not standard issue for the patrols that were sent out.

"You going to check?" Viklav tapped the Ghost's shoulder, hiking a thumb to where a bundle of unexploded mortar rounds lay just beneath a thin layer of frozen dirt and snow.

"It looks fine enough." He frowned. Viklav was an old-guard, one of the remnants of the White Wolf militia that had survived the western purges. The old man was not one of those that would second guess himself.

Viklav raised his eyebrows, motioning more with his head this time around- he was motioning towards the _kids_ who stood awkwardly on the trail nearest their assigned hides. The Ghost sighed, wishing that Viklav had a better way with words- the old wolf was a veteran of a war and of the insurgency that followed. He had combat experience that dwarfed the Ghost's own, it was just that Viklav was not _leadership_ material.

"I was going to give them words when it's closer to time."

"Bullshit." Viklav grinned. It was a cold expression, cynicism had frozen the old wolf's heart long ago.

"Fine… fine, I'll go talk to them."

Normally, the Ghost would use the excuse of 'maintaining professional distance' as an excuse to simply not talk to subordinates… but could scared kids be considered subordinates? Subordinates took orders, subordinates were _trained_…

The boys were meandering near the trail, exactly what he ordered them to _stop_ doing. How he wished this were a wider operation with his _real_ soldiers- but no, they were needed to hold the line.

"We'll be fine though, right?" Luka's wish for assurance pulled the Ghost from his own wishes.

'_There's no such guarantees in combat.'_ were the first words that loaded into the Ghost's mouth, but he choked them back, jamming his thoughts.

"If everything goes to plan, yes." Stammered out when the chamber cleared in his head.

The boys visibly relaxed, clutching less to themselves, and more to their rifles.

"C-can you tell us the plan again, please?" Nikita managed to stammer out. To the boy's surprise, the Ghost did not bite his head off like he undoubtedly believe the militia leader to do. Instead, the Ghost sighed with the slight grinding of teeth.

"Viklav and myself will pitch hand grenades after the bomb goes off to flush them into the drifts. Remember; KABOOM, boom, boom. When you hear our AK's _then_ you jump up and shoot, yeah?" His words were met with cautious nods from Luka and Nikita, who simply clung to their rifles more.

The Ghost's could only hope that his confidence in the plan was slowly growing infectious. Viklav and Vasili had served under him before, so they knew the score. The youngsters, however…

"Get to your hides." The Ghost motioned for the boys to hide first, so that he and Viklav could help them. They had dug into the snow drift deep enough that they could lay prone beneath a white-painted tarp, but that was it. They hadn't disguised their hides any better, so the two veterans went about throwing more snow upon their juniors' backs.

"Remember. Kaboom, boom, boom, then you attack." The Ghost crouched down, close to where the white tarupin met snow drift, noting vapors leaking out from the cracks. The boy was breathing too fast, the nerves were getting to him. "Suck on some snow to keep your breath from giving you away." The Ghost scooped a small handful of soft snow, playfully smattering it over the boy's tarp.

Viklav gave him a thumbs up from Nikita's mound before carefully waddling over to what he macabrely joked as his "frozen grave", dragging a branch of fir behind him. The Ghost followed suit, trying to smooth out the tracks from his snow shoes.

He clambered into his grave as well, a mix of frozen dirt and hard-packed snow. No… less a grave, and more an ice-box as he pulled the camouflage tarpaulin over himself. At least he could see out, unlike Nikita and Luka. Viklav had found some nice wiry branches and dead shrubbery, even took the time to carefully harvest the things with snow still clinging to their branches. From behind the shroud of branches, they could watch the trail- see where to throw the grenades.

And see when the hounds approached still clad in their foliage green-

Still in their surplus black boots, not a ski or snowshoe amongst them.

Still overconfident despite losing five patrols this month to traps and ambushes; still high off the last village they purged of "infection". Not a single damn lesson learned.

The crack of a Dragunov preceding the panic and the shouting. Vasili had missed his cold shot, but the effect was all the same. Return fire blindly spewed into the treeline as the android began to trundle forward. The soldiers had all begun to take cover behind trees or shallow drifts that lined the trail as a second and third round cracked and pinged off of the advancing metal man. The soldiers had scattered past the hides, focused very intently on the sniper's direction instead of what lay next to them.

The armored android raised its weapon, the first round out of it interrupted by a violent blast that made everyone throw themselves to the ground.

The Ghost snapped the pin from the old miniature pineapple, peeking ever so slightly from beneath his white tarp to find just where to pitch- but the patrol had already broken formation, spreading out far more than expected. There was no way to predict just how a human would react to a fear impulse, after all; but the Ghost had hoped that their panic would have been more in the ambush's favor.

Three had waded near to Viklav's hide- too close to pitch a grenade at, another team by Nikita's… at this point, it was less about casualties, and more about disruption.

An old Kalashnikov rattled from somewhere across the trail, and the military's rifles answered.

The Ghost had no choice but to just pitch, whipping the explosive out into the middle of the trail-

"Grenade!" One of the soldiers screamed, leaping from his cover and into the deceptively deep defilade that ran the length of the trail. The rest followed suit as the frag burst-

The second grenade had never gone off, but the Ghost emerged from his grave regardless. Two were near his hide, just off the trail and still trying to pull themselves up from the snow. The rifle rattled in his hands, slamming back into the haunch of his shoulder; the crimson stains staining the snow signalling him to shift focus.

A grenade exploded by Viklav's hide, the three soldiers that had surrounded it were shredded by the blast. Two more stood by Nikita's, firing into the drift where the boy would have been laying prone. Five more had scattered into the mire of white, trying to avoid both the sniper and grenade fragments.

There was no time to wonder, nor worry about crossfire as the Ghost's rifle chattered at anything that wore green. The cacophony of rifles, both new and old, drowned out the gasps and cries of the dying, until the woods fell silent once again.

The Ghost took stock: twelve green-clad men dead, six by bullets, four by grenades, two more tossed and broken alongside the shattered remains of their little toy robot. There was no worry about being jumped by survivors.

And then the bigger worry came next.

Viklav had emerged from his grave, a pained scowl stamped upon his face. The old man's white-tarp hide shredded and stained with red, but he was alive. The Ghost still did not let out a sigh of relief yet as he turned his attentions to the new bloods.

Telltale flecks of crimson and steam coming from Nikita's hide told him all he needed to know of the boy's fate. His friend Luka had clambered from his own snowy pit, looking upon himself with disbelief. The boy hadn't noticed yet.

"Grab what you can off of the bodies." The Ghost ordered, waving a hand signal down the trail- Vasili was to start covering their tracks.

"I thought I would have been shot for sure, eh Nikita?" Luka looked for his friend, not noticing the blood in the mound. "Nikita?" Luka called out.

Viklav locked eyes with the Ghost, shaking his head.

"The boy jumped from his hide early." Viklav mumbled as he picked through the corpses, explaining the early AK fire they had heard. Luka moved for where Nikata lay, but the Ghost intercepted him, shoving the boy back towards the trail.

"Do yourself the favor and don't." He growled. The boy continued to press against him, only to be shoved into the snow.

"You said everything would be fine!" The boy gritted his teeth, "You said we'd be safe."

"_If_ everything went to plan." The Ghost motioned to where Nikita most likely was going rigid in his grave, "He didn't follow the plan, and the risk caught him."

"And what are you going to tell our father?" Luka hissed, hand drifting down to the rifle.

"The same thing I tell everyone who wants to bite at the hounds." The Ghost leant in slightly, his whole body coiled and tensed like a spring, "The same thing I told you two when you _begged_ to join." He hissed, "You dig your own grave and you must be ready to lie in it."

The boy howled in anger, dragging his AK forward to try and erase the blood contract he had made with the Ghost... only to be viciously struck across the face, the rifle wrenched from his hands as he fell to the frozen dirt.

"He will learn." Viklav hovered over the boy who had tried to scramble away in terror from the two devils of the mountains. Viklav handed the boy's rifle over to the Ghost.

The militia commander expertly stripped the mag from the old family Kalashnikov and cleared the chamber before tossing it back at the boy's feet.

"There's no going back now, Luka." He spoke dispassionately, motioning at the dead that surrounded them, "The hounds have marked this territory- they will keep coming until we kill enough of them."

"Bury him, at least." Luka threw an ineffectual kick towards the two callous militiamen, flinging snow and packed ice in their direction, but neither man paid mind as they grabbed what weapons they could. "You can't just leave him for the wolves." The boy pleaded.

"We can." Viklav grunted, slinging the fifth captured rifle over his shoulder, "We have before, just as we expect you to do the same to us if we die."

But the boy's begging gave the Ghost pause- a moment's hesitation that he tried so hard to always ignore. Luka was no older than he was when he had killed his first man- was this the right path for such a boy? Hesitation was the seed for doubt to grow, and once doubt bloomed, then guilt would rear its damn smug face again.

He cracked.

He hated this distance- this cold heart that he knew was purely for self-preservation.

He hated being a ghost, and for once he wished to live again- even if only to feel the pain.

"Viklav, make the boy carry some of those and group back with Vasili."

"Right, but-"

"Just do it, Viklav!" The Ghost snapped, causing even a veteran such as Viklav to flinch, "And make sure he _understands_ just what is at stake here."

He watched the two pick up a few more rifles before making haste down the trail. When he was sure that no-one was near, the Ghost dragged himself to where Nikita had fallen.

"I have been fighting for too long." The Ghost mumbled as he dropped himself into the drift where the smell of blood steamed up from the foxhole. He didn't need to look at the body- he didn't need another on his conscience. Instead, the Ghost picked up the boy's entrenching tool and threw snow over the evidence of his damnation.

Here in a shitty frozen pit in the ground a child had died for, arguably, no good reason. Why was he and his brother so eager to fight? They didn't need to pick up a Kalashnikov yet… was that why their father had let them go? To show that they had no reason to do this?

That the boys would get a taste of the violence and spit it out like any sane person would? To make the logical choice that the Ghost hadn't back when he had first picked up a rifle...

"Why did you want to fight, eh?" He shivered a moment, asking the corpse. Of course he would get no reply.

"We fight… to protect our people- our way of life." The Ghost spoke. Those words were determined, practiced, hollow.

"First the Bolsheviks and their the NKVD… then the huskers… the Westerners after that. Then the FSB and now the liars who claim us tainted; all so they can burn us and take our lands? What next? How long will we fight for our mountains, hmm? When will we be free to live?" The Ghost looked over the shallow grave of Nikita, once again asking the corpse and receiving no answer.

"There is no end, is there? Our world is violence, so we must be violent in return." He repeated, doubt creeping from the dark recesses of his mind. It was all he had ever known, after all.

"Boss are you-"

"Yeah, I'm coming." The Ghost shouted back to the impatient Viklav, taking a moment to hastily throw more snow over the blood-stained tarupin. Buried enough to keep the wolves away- at least until the spring thaw. They could find the boy and bury him proper after that.

It was that very moment that he had rejoined the living. He couldn't go back to being the Ghost of the Urals any longer. For all the Ghost knew, his actions could be damning the next generation of his people.

He wanted out, he wanted freedom once again.

But who could free a man who had only known death and violence?


	24. Interlude: Ghost of the Urals (6)

Only Viklav, Vasili, and Brolchev the Bear knew that he was going off on this mission. All the other sub-commanders were in field… and of the ones who knew what he was going to do, only Brolchev disagreed with the move.

"_A solo attack on a forward operating base is suicide, tovarish."_ That bear of a man had complained, trying to talk him out of it. "_You are still young and impulsive."_

The Ghost had retorted it was only suicide if you strode up to the front gates expecting a scrap- but that was how Brolchev thought attacks should be. Traditional, honorable, won through tenacity of the people's spirit.

It was too much credit to give to the hounds, for they certainly didn't show the people of the mountain the same respect.

That forward base was a thorn in their side. It was were the burn teams bunkered down during the winter. It was where hound patrols ranged out towards the Liberation Front's lines. It was where they thought they were safe to project their power out into the hills beyond. To strike at them there would certainly give them pause, but to get through the patrols and perimeter… well, save for Vasili, the Ghost was the only one who had trained under Leonov before the old veteran got himself killed.

And Brolchev didn't understand that the Ghost wasn't moving to wipe it out, at least not yet. Weaken it, put the hounds on edge, make them pull back patrols to guard themselves; it would relieve some pressure from the lines.

The dead of night would cover his tracks, and the guard may be lax- the frigid cold of the mid-winter would deter all but the most determined infiltrator.

Unfortunately for the hounds, the Ghost was _incredibly_ determined as he gently slid under the freshly-clipped razor wire, digging himself a shallow trough through the snow. The guards in the tower were barely moving, frozen to their seats or huddled around a heater most likely. The spotlights never moved, never swept back and forth in diligence of their duty, instead they stayed focused around the main entrance.

The Ghost glided across the snow to the foot of the hesco wall crowned by more razor wire. The second line of defenses would be harder than the first to get through without being noticed. He slid around the perimeter wall, going by memory of the maps. Armory, the rows of longhouse barracks, garage, mess hall- he noted where the closest buildings would be mentally.

The mess hall and QM would be the least watched section of the base, least populated as well. Cutters at the ready, he began climbing the hesco's wire-framed exterior, thankful that there was _just_ enough room for his gloved hands to fit. Peeking the top of the wall revealed that he was, indeed, near the mess-hall, and even more fortunate, there was barely any lights, save for the illumination near the central yard of the camp.

No patrols, either, from what he could make out. He clipped the razor wire as quietly as possible before gently sliding his pack and rifle through. The cold was keeping everyone inside- either lack of discipline or the hounds thought that they were safe in their little fort. The Ghost slipped through the gap in the wire, gently tying it off after he was through. If there _was_ a patrol that came by, they'd have to be hawk-eyed to spot the breach.

In his pack were three large blocks of explosives, the first of which was destined for the command and control center. Cripple the bases' response time for the coming offensive, hopefully decapitate their leadership. Moving about inside of the perimeter was a hundred times easier than outside the wire. More sharp angles, more crevices and shadows to hide in, and most importantly they had no idea there was anyone _in_ the wire yet.

The next would be the armory- the secondary explosions and cook-offs might hopefully maim more. The final package was destined for the one of the barrack blocks, the plan to set it all off after he slipped out, but the path back towards his escape route took him by the muster-yard. He had skirted the flood lights, though at the opposite edge of the yard, they illuminated something he had missed his first pass.

Six bodies tied to posts, their makeshift uniform of one of the mountain militias making it clear _who_ they were. The Ghost stared, eyes finally adjusting to what he was seeing- they were long dead from exposure, but the black splotched stains of frozen blood on the front of their uniforms told the Ghost that they had suffered before being left out in the cold to die.

Something in his mind hijacked the current plan. Cold logic melted away to simple-minded hatred. It wasn't enough to cripple this base- he needed to put _fear_ into these hounds. They needed to understand just exactly who they were dealing with, so that not even executing prisoners would make them feel like big men anymore.

And the Ghost would tear into them like the savage they saw the mountain folk as. Like his namesake, he slipped to the barracks that would have been spared. What little sense of restraint that was left had fled.

The clatter of a explosive-packed metal cylinder against the cold wooden floor hadn't woken any in the first longhouse, but the resulting explosion sure as hell woke everyone else. In the time it would take for them to leap out of bed in confusion, the Ghost speed-dialed the first explosive.

The ringtone, followed by the boom that ripped from the other side of the camp.

Chaos, screams and shouts. The first half-dressed man to run out of the next longhouse had barely managed to get a chest-rig over himself, rifle not even ready as he plunged into the cold dark.

The Ghost's knife sank into the soldier's neck, becoming a convenient handle to steer the dying man as a human shield for the moment as he pulled the victim to his knees. He mounted his rifle on the soldier's shoulder, cracking off a burst at the closest group of armed men that emerged. His shield's pained screams became gurgles as the point of the blade sank somewhere deeper near his throat.

Three punches to his shoulder followed by another three, another three, another three...

Those who weren't his first victims had dove for cover and were panickedly returning fire. The Ghost yanked a grenade from the dead man's rig before scrambling back towards the next longhouse. Shouts of confusion, the sounds of men arming themselves.

He pitched the sphere through the open door as he passed, more screams of terror- more confusion before the dulled thump.

The alarm was out now. Eyes and ears would be on the eastern side where he played havoc. Slap the mag out, latch in a fresh one, keep moving. Don't get pinned to one spot-

The flashlights in the dark were still on his last position, but they would catch up or cut him off soon. He pulled another grenade as he approached one of the earthen bunkers that lined the perimeter. Wisps of vapor- breath from muffled whispers. Confusion at which direction to face; he pitched the grenade in before diving away.

The flashlights swept towards the bunker now-

Time for the split of forces. He speed dialed the next bomb.

An explosion three times that of the grenades he had been flinging about erupted from the other side of the camp- the armory going up in a gout of fire. The pursuing lights faltered, rapidly sweeping back and forth or pointing back the way they had came-

And what he wanted more than anything, the sound of AK's firing into the dark on the other side of the camp.

"_Ura! For the Komi! For all the Peoples!"_ He shouted before drowning out his own voice with rifle fire.

He would make them pay.

He would do as Leonov taught. He would make them bleed. He would make their mothers weep and their wives lament. Even if they killed him, it would galvanize the others- it would raise the rest of the Urals in full rebellion.

And then he'd be free of this. Then he'd...

He… He-

* * *

"You're lying now, commander." 45 interrupted the commander's thoughts, giving him that knowing stare. While the smile was amused, there was a hint of annoyance mixed into 45's modulator.

"Am I?"

"Your heart rate has elevated, you are gesturing after emphasis points, your eyes are making micro-movements implying you are over-thinking." 45 counted off the infractions, her grin growing wider with each piece of evidence provided.

"Well it was a harrowing experience."

"Oh I am sure." 45 rolled her eyes. She had no real reason to doubt his narrative, she _had_ seen him in action plenty of times before, so what had really tipped her off?

"Tell me then, how did you come to Griffin?"

"I was getting to that part-"

"The truth, this time please."

The commander sighed deep, a smile creeping onto his face once he had admitted to being bested. "The short or long version?" He asked.

"The short version is fine."

"I was turned in by my cousin when taking leave from the front." The commander let out a single, dry chuckle once 45 had parsed that it was the truth, "No grand final stand, no shootout. Simply handed over to the FSB in a peace deal made behind my back. Viklav, Luka… most of my lieutenants got rounded up after I did. I don't know which ones were complicit in the betrayal though."

_Those_ were the times that he didn't want to remember. A life of violence begets violence, after all.

"They hung most of them at the border of the Urals Yellow Zone or dumped them in the Vishera. Sent me back to Perm to be paraded around as a war criminal- though most of it was made up, mind you, justification for being as ruthless as they were. That aside, Kryuger picked me out there, made me a deal… are you sure you didn't want to hear the long version? I had thought up this bit where I slipped away and escaped to the-"

"No." 45's words were blunt, but there was something beneath; she was thinking deeply about something.

"_Master. Your stress levels have elevated. For your mental well-being I would advise ending this interrogation." _36's voice chimed over the intercom. While most of the time he relied on her for his mental well-being, this time he was fully in control. 36's choice of words certainly cut back all of the good will he had spent the last hour culminating.

"An interrogation was it?" 45 smiled coldly.

"Hardly- obviously." The commander grunted as he stood and stretched. The way that 45 had clammed up again made him curse G36's empathy program stepping in. It was best to just leave 45 here, let her teammates see that she was fine. He moved to leave.

"Commander?"

He found that 45 was hesitating, the dolls mouth slightly ajar, frozen with the words trapped in her voice modulator. The fragmentation she suffered from was clear even to him- or perhaps because he spent so much time around dolls it was clear. Either way, the commander patiently waited for her to overcome the barrier.

"I… thank you for sharing." 45's tone shifted sharply, distant. He had no idea if that was what 45 _needed_, but he certainly hoped it would help her overcome whatever it was she was suffering from.

"Whatever you read on the net about the Ghost, just remember that most of it is lies and propaganda." The commander smiled, "After all, the People don't have the net up there, so how could their voices ever be heard?"

"_Master. Your attention is needed in Command."_

"Coming, Thirty-six." He shouted back to the intercom before giving 45 one last glance.

There she lay on the slab, motionless, just like a wounded body laid out in the cold, and he couldn't help but feel a connection to 45… and it pained him. Helpless in his inability to help her, still shut out. As apt as a student of war he was, he never was one for Leonov's advice when it came to leading... but he could certainly see merit in the old man's words now. Fraternization always brings the looming specter of tragedy; so which would be his downfall?


	25. Chapter 19: 404 - HK416

"Sis!" The brightness of 9's voice punched through the dark static what swirled about in 45's digimind, sparking that little bit of warmth in her emotion module.

Six claps of boots on tile and 9 had already bound from the entrance straight to 45's side. The twin-tailed-twin swept in under the swinging mechanical arm, giving 45 a quick hug before the arm came back around to finish its welds.

Behind 9, less enthusiastically but similarly relieved were 416 and G11. Curiously enough, the first thing that 45 had noted about the two were the visitor's passes that hung from their necks, complete with little mug shots slotted into them.

"Did you speak with the commander?" 45 asked, doing her absolute best to suppress the anxiety that crackled forth.

"No, he was busy with overseeing a withdrawal action." 9 frowned, even though it was clear that 45 was asking 416.

The elite AR doll nodded her confirmation, though she tilted her head slightly towards 9, hinting that there may be something more. 45 picked up on it instantly, 9's eagerness to meet the commander, one that could be dismissed as 9's more curious and playful nature… or it could be something far worse for 45.

"You get passes and I don't?" 45 mused, gently lifting 9's pass from her sister's chest to get a closer look.

A G&K visitor's pass, clearance level yellow- civilian floors, dorms, and repair bay. That was it.

Analogue media, hard to fake or replicate physically in short time, no digital print to alter for access. 45 sighed; sometime the simplest security measures could be the most effective. She turned her gaze to 416, making sure she put on her best taunting grin as she beckoned the assault rifle doll over.

"Now now, aren't you going to give me a hug too?"

9 stepped aside in surprise as 416 took her turn to lean in, hand on 45's shoulder like the caring, loving teammate she was not.

"Digital blackout, the maid is monitoring us." 416 whispered- no, more than whispered- her voice modulator was specifically set at 10 decibels.

Below the pickup range of all but specialized equipment.

"Forty-five's lucky. She gets to nap." G11 half-whined, half yawned, drowning out the secretive talk.

"I hardly call being forced into Level Two a nap, Eleven."

"You don't sleep on Level Two?" G11 looked at 45 with a mix of confusion and profound disappointment.

"When do you go under?" 416 interjected, frowning and gesturing for 9 to go tend to 11.

"The hardware is set so… soon." 45 hated the software side- somehow it always made her feel insignificant.

"Do you want us to-"

"No. I'll be fine here. Go find a place to rest." 45 waved the dismissal order to her team, though she locked eyes with 416 as she did so, the unspoken sign for her to hang back. Naturally 9 and 11 were out the door in the blink of an eye, eager to take their leave.

"Monitor Nine." 45 instructed, not caring if the suspicious maid heard this part of the conversation. If anything, it might help 45 in keeping 9 away from the commander.

"Yeah, right." 416's normally soft features pulled into that pre-programmed scowl of hers, "And the commander?"

"Be courteous, be gracious. He _invited us in after all._" 45 pitched the inflection in her voice just that much farther out, past 416 and towards the intercom. Let that tie up the maid's processing a little bit as 45 adjusted the decibel level of her voice again.

"And _keep Nine away from him_. She's unstable." She whispered. 416 gave her no acknowledgement, no salute like the doll would have done for anyone she respected.

Not that 45's stability was any better. The voices had quieted for the time being, but now she suffered that itch that had always been her bane: curiosity. Even more so now that she was isolated both electronically and physically. There would probably be a partition on Level Two waiting for her, the trickle of data in and out would not being enough to help her scratch the itch through net searches.

No, 45 would have to parse it alone. Besides, some questions the net simply didn't have answers for anyways.

"_Please set doll into standby mode to continue. Please set doll into standby mode to continue." _The repair station chirped at her in its low monotone.

She could delay all she wanted- and she certainly _did_ want to delay that cold, separating feeling that she hated during maintenances... but the more time they spent on this base, the more compromised they'd become.

One last check to make sure the needed data was secreted away where only the most invasive of programs would be able to crack, and she selected standby mode.

Was this what sleep was like for humans? Was this feeling of slowly shutting down bit by bit what humans experienced, were they even conscious enough for-

* * *

416 waited in the hallway, listening for that distinct clunk for when the door closed and sealed behind her. The scowl erased from her features the moment she was fully separated from the fox by four-inches of reinforced steel.

Security cameras slowly shifted beneath their shrouded domes in a poor attempt to hide that they were tracking 416 as she moved through the hall.

Let the maid monitor 416 all she wanted; she could at least understand G36's reasoning. She couldn't fault the doll's protective protocols- hell 416 would have done the same in her position. 416's hand dropped to her hip- where the grip of her rifle should have been when slung over her shoulder. Surprised, she cursed quietly- that little talk with 45 had put her into a heightened state. Unintentionally, sure, but even the slightest slip of 416's control on the current situation irked her.

She played it off by fixing the hem of her skirt.

"Now where did those little gremlins run off too?" She asked, perhaps hoping that her eavesdropper wouldn't be able to resist answering a "guest".

416 grinned internally when there was only silence in return. G36 had certainly grown as well; back before, the maid wouldn't have been able to help herself in answering any question. 416 couldn't help but feel the slightest bit proud- though their frames and processors were nothing alike, they were still proud inheritors of the HK legacy. To be anything less than efficient, purposeful, and most importantly, _useful_, would be a disgrace.

In a way, they were like a distant family… like a cousin twice removed, or whatever humans would associate such kinship as. She didn't bother checking the thesaurus to try and find the right turn of phrase. There were more important matters to deal with as she turned inward to her mission.

_[Task Update] Find and secure chaos gremlins._

_[Task Update] Isolate and occupy the commander.__

First she'd check the visitor's lounge, then the dorms if she had to. Their permissions had extended, but intruding on the dorms felt like an invasion of what little privacy dolls could get, though she doubted 11 and 9 felt the same way.

Or maybe she didn't want to see other dolls using the furniture and furnishings that _they _had earned… if the commander even brought them with him. After all, this was a new base, and it was most unlike that backwater one that the commander had been stationed at in F02. Far more layers, far deeper into the bedrock, far more secure than that survival bunker that she had gotten used to.

"Guide. Directions to visitor's center." 416 called out. A two tone chime, a little pleasant diddy, a line of light tracing a path along the floor for her.

Yes, the commander has certainly moved up in the world to afford such frivolous amenities.

And it pulled at her- a jealousy that threaded so well within the circuitry of anger... that he had achieved it all _without_ her. She was supposed to be perfection, a tool of the utmost competence and efficiency that even a braindead idiot of a commander could rise up the ranks… not to say that the commander was one of those cretins. To be able to bring such a promising human victory and glory… well it would have reflected upon 416's prestige, further cementing what she had been saying all this time.

But _no._

Here she was scraping the bottom, living payday by payday in the shitheap that was the Yellow zone. Deeds never to be acknowledged or rewarded. The scowl _almost_ forced its way past the emotion filters that she had put in place.

Just in time as well, as a pair of Griffin dolls were approaching her down the hall and 416 most certainly did not want to give off the wrong impression. The armbands gave the pair away instantly.

"Look look M-Four! It's one of the guests!"

Energetic -youthfully energetic- a lot like 9. The pale skinned, black clad doll had run up to 416, the platinum blonde hair flowing about wildly as she flailed a greeting.

And 416 _actively_ had to hold herself back, doing everything in her power to stem the wave of pulses from her emotion module. She couldn't muster a cordial smile, as it took every bit of spare processing to hold back the sudden surge of contempt.

"Hi hi hi, welcome!" SOP-II forcibly grabbed 416's clenched fist, giving a vigorous handshake without even realizing _why_ the fist had balled so tight.

Model M4A1 and her sister model SOP Mod II, matched perfectly to 416's database. The dark haired doll gently brushed the green highlight out of her face turning her head slightly in a bashful display, and 416 could _feel_ the timidness and hesitation coming off of the doll.

Weakness.

"Hello miss…?"

"Doesn't matter." 416 coldly replied. She pulled her hand from SOP's grip. "I'm just another doll that will be gone soon, no need to know who I am."

Both M4 models recoiled slightly, like children playing with fire, still trying to process 416's words and tone. Surprisingly, despite her limited social processing specs, it was SOP who had bounced back first, a big dumb smile on her face.

"That's alright! Not everyone can be elites like us, but even common model dolls are still needed!"

Reflexive, faster than 416 could have done with a command impulse, her hand had dropped to her thigh- but there was no pistol grip seated in her palm, there wasn't even her thigh-holster there. It was this incongruity that brought 416 back to her senses.

While SOP cackled mirthfully at her own words, M4 had certainly noticed the dark expression that had impulsively cast over 416.

"Sop, that's not a nice thing to say to a guest here." M4 chided before turning to 416 and apologizing.

Weakness.

Was _this_ what Persica wanted? _This_ timid thing over _her_?

"Pathetic." 416 whispered, just below the decibel threshold for a doll, but it was a word that her programming _compelled_ her to say.

They felt dissociated from her, like some sort of hijack-ware had forced it from her emotion module.

Not that either member of Anti-Rain had noticed.

"Excuse me. I must find my teammates." 416 gestured to the lit path, slipping between the AR team members. If _they_ were here, then _she_ might be-

"O-oh. Okay, bye." M4 waved a half-hearted farewell, causing 416 to bristle further.

More and more weakness at every display. _That_ was why M4A1 _needed _a team to support her, why she had to be propped up by a group of such _asymmetrical_ dolls…

Why she had to be _coddled_ by M16. It was a pathetic showing that made 416 gag- though she had no actual process to display such a gesture.

_HK M4_.

After seeing the _real_ M4, she was glad to have been shed that moniker. She couldn't even be mad anymore, only disgusted that she had ever been associated with it in the first place.

_She_ was perfection, the _only_ thing needed to complete _any_ mission.

404 needed _her_, not the other way around.

She repeated the thought process over and over, each time repeated lessening her aversion response until her logic process slowly began to conform to the idea, everything finally settling into an uncomfortable equilibrium.

"Four-sixteen! We're over here!" Frantic waving and flailing of chocolate brown twin-tails accompanied the excited shout. 9 smiled wide once she caught 416's attention... she hadn't even realized how far she had walked.

"You looked so lost in thought that I thought you'd walk by-"

416 silenced 9's shouting by holding up a single finger to her lip before pointing to a sleeping G11 laying her head on 9's lap. 9 mouthed her apology, that stupid, carefree smile shifting to a slightly more embarrassed one. Still happy, still herself.

416 sighed, long and deep as she expelled the pent up heat from all that had transpired in her short walk.

Yes, these idiots needed her, for now. Even if her deeds were never acknowledged by the commander, at least 416 was capable of knowing that all of her efforts, all of her fighting still had purpose and meaning... if not to anyone else, at least _she _could acknowledge them.


	26. Chapter 20: Griffin - FAL

"You did the best you could. Thank you, Fal." The commander's voice held every conceivable ounce of compassion as far as FAL could detect. The man cared, cared perhaps too deeply, but certainly far more than the last one had ever done. It was why FAL would follow her commander to the ends of the earth.

_[Status]_

_FN 2000: Disabled_

_FN-49: Critical_

_FN Five-seveN: Critical_

_FN FNC: Disabled._

_FN FAL: Operational - 54% capacity._

Fal looked down at her own frame, epidermal surface marred and muddy. She certainly didn't _feel_ operational.

They had successfully fended off repeat attacks from both standard SF units, as they were expecting… but also armored assault units, very much beyond what FAL thought was present in the sector. If they hadn't received the dummies and ammo, they never would have survived until PKP's team had reinforced them. Even the dummy containers had helped them hold out, giving them _just_ enough cover to keep fighting

But one could argue… was fighting there really necessary?

Quietly FAL went about her previous task, gathering up the broken dummies that scattered the clearing. M590 had offered her help, but FAL turned her down, saying something along the lines that her strength was needed to push the containers out of the landing zone.

No, as the team leader, this result was all based on FAL's decision. She lifted FN-2000's broken mainframe- its head missing. A jaeger's bolt having cauterized the circuitry of the neck stump.

FAL's logic knew that _her_ 2000 would be fine- she was a common enough doll that she undoubtedly would had been uploaded into a new frame back at base. Same with FNC, and both would probably be functional by the time team FN made it back…

But it didn't ease the discomfort that FAL felt thumping through her systems. It chewed up her processing, tangling up what spare memory she had-

Was this what human grief was? A paralyzing, lethargic emotion? If it was, she hated it.

"I'm sorry." FAL mumbled to the shattered body. It did little to ease the stutter and haze that weighed down her digimind.

She hated it, and yet it was a part of her base programming; she couldn't just delete it. FAL would do as her commander told her to do, taking that feeling and partitioning it- holding it in place to keep it from spreading and affecting other processes.

Her ambition, her drive to be a better leader, it had held a connection to a similar emotion before but had been archived some time ago, taking less and less priority for memory and processing. FAL updated it, using the image of FN-2000 in her arms to be attached to the file as a further reminder.

It had been her decision that had lead to this outcome, she needed to be better so that it wouldn't happen again.

Image, connection, and emotional state saved.

The first chopper came in quick, crew moving to start collecting what could be salvaged. Gently, as if the body were that of a sleeping human child, FAL laid the shell of a mainframe on the chopper's floor before moving to collect FNC's body.

Image, connection, emotional state saved.

"We did the best we could have." Five-seveN smiled weakly as FAL passed her, FNC's hole-riddled body in her arms. She helped FAL lower their little chocolate lover's frame into the chopper before offering FAL a hand up as well.

"Considering what we faced, we did the best we could have." Five-seveN repeated.

It was illogical. Of all the dolls in the roster, Five-seveN should have been the most critical of FAL at this juncture, every decision leading up to this outcome scrutinized as she went over the post-battle data.

But not right now.

It wasn't often that Team FN lost. They had two years of a stellar record, so a single loss would-

"A pyrrhic victory." FAL breathed out, trying to overwrite her own personal bias based on emotion. Five-seveN had cocked her head, a single thin eyebrow raised as if to say 'It's still a victory'. Perhaps her sub-commander was being so accommodating because she knew that this would spur FAL to improve… or perhaps because she knew that she would never have been able to do any better either.

Then again, this all was FAL's idea- to get them stuck into a combat they could have avoided. The sinking feeling in her digimind coincided with the bump of the chopper's takeoff, causing FAL to sink into her seat more.

'_Perhaps the VIP is someone rich and they'll reward us with a big bonus.'_ Five-seveN sent over the network as she too sank into her seat.

'_If that happens, then you could buy that blouse- you know the one that you said would catch the commander's eye?'_ 49 chimed in on the network, the peaceful conversation snapping her from standby mode.

FAL smiled, trying to project mirth as the girls spoke of what they would buy if they got a hazard pay bonus. For FAL though… she would buy FNC a candy store's worth of treats for how gallantly she fought, and get 2000 that dress that she had been saving for. After all, 2000 had held out for so long against those jaegers, giving FAL the time she needed to maneuver-

No, FAL didn't deserve to enjoy such rewards. After all, she achieved victory on the backs of her comrades. She pinged a quiet goodnight over the network, slipping into standby mode for the remainder of the flight.

After all, she was waiting for the one thing that would give her solace. She awoke on touchdown, just before the door slid open. There he was, standing on the edge of the helipad, that crimson coat flapping wildly as he held his ground against the wash of the props.

"_Welcome back, girls."_ He mouthed, voice unable to pierce the cacophony of a whining helicopter.

His voice didn't matter, only his words and intent.

Sure, the commander greeted every returning echelon in such a matter… but FAL had been the first. She had _begun_ such a tradition with him, so to her it was _special_.

Gently and just the slightest bit timidly, she waved back. All trace of hesitation and doubt was gone once she stepped over the bodies of her comrades to make her way to their commander.

"We are back, commander." She announced, melodic voice climbing above the pitch of the turbine engine winding down.

His smile- she had it registered and matched against her empathy registration: pride, relief… and something else. He looked her over, making FAL suddenly aware of her current disheveled state, but the commander's gaze focused intently on her eyes. That stern, analyzing gaze turned to what remained of Team FN before he signaled for them to form up on him. It was a wordless command, one that the dolls heeded readily not just because of their programming, but out respect.

And then he pulled the three of them into a hug, close enough that they could hear his words clearer than even a network ping.

"You did good, girls."

Those words sent a surge through FAL's systems.

It wasn't joy or happiness. She couldn't readily identify it… something close to relief- it was tied intimately to the sense of anxiety she had.

It was a warm feeling though. It made her hold onto the others just that bit more than she had before.

A fifth, then sixth body slammed into the huddle, hands grabbing and arms stretched to try and get around them.

"We're back!" FNC shouted, trying to force her way into the center of the huddle, only to be held back at the collar by FN-2000.

"Don't worry, Fal, they were restored without any hiccups. They don't fault you." the commander whispered in her ear before releasing the embrace. In that moment, affection switched to professionalism instantly as the team's programming took over, the dolls standing at the ready for their instructions.

"Make for the repair bay. After maintenance you are granted a twenty-four hour leave pass."

The team instantly relaxed, only Five-seveN asked for permission to speak, a right wordlessly granted.

"We are not to do our after action report and data consolidation?"

The commander hesitated, eyes turning to FAL. She understood what he was asking.

"It is fine, commander. I can handle it." FAL smiled.

"Thank you then, Fal." The commander spoke with a slight sigh of relief, visibly relaxing somewhat. Before he fully dismissed them, he had flipped back to that commanding voice of his, "We have a guest in the repair bay. Do your best to get along with them."

"Why commander, I will show them such hospitality that it will make Thirty-six jealous. Please thank PKP for me when her team lands." FAL cooed, giving his arm a gentle squeeze as she moved to catch up with her team.

Someone was following her, a small shadow behind her every step.

"Was I useful, FAL? I want to see!" FNC struck, sliding in front of FAL.

"Of course you were," FAL gracefully dodged past FNC, giving the enthusiastic blonde a pat on the head as she slipped by, "You will be the first to see the AAR."

That was, of course, after FAL combed through it. She would leave out the more traumatizing details, and most certainly would not be letting FNC access the ocular data her mainframe recorded before frame-death. At least FN-2000's recording cut off instantly…

The pair caught up to the rest of their team in the middle of discussing the potential for bonus pay as they slipped into the repair bay.

"Find yourselves a comfy bed, ladies." FAL announced in an attempt to break up the rabble. FNC and F-2000 were already transferred into fresh frames, but they would certainly stick around until everyone else went to Level 2.

Curiously though, there was one station already occupied, just as the commander had mentioned.

The frame of a young girl, grey hair pulled tight into a side-tail. Scar down one eye clearer and cleaner than the others that marred her epidermal surface. The model matched to a UMP-45 in the IOP database… but why would an IOP model be so scarred- so obviously work-shop repaired instead of having the frame replaced?

Something electric coursed through every circuit in FAL's digimind. There was a sense of familiarity to this doll… a connection despite FAL having never seen such a model before. Every time she traced that connecting circuit, it felt as if it slammed into a wall.

After a hundred interations ending the same, FAL gave up. Was this what humans felt when they couldn't remember something? Was it supposed to be this… frustrating? FAL had certainly seen the commander countless times with his head held in his hands, stress levels elevating whenever he forgot something- even something as trivial as what he had been working on before a moment of distraction.

FAL suddenly felt as if she could relate to that emotion, quietly tagging and saving it, though she was aware of the logical flaw. Instead of a human brain replete with flaws and idiosyncrasies, she had a mindmap and memories backed up by external server.

She saved it anyways.

Perhaps she could ask this doll if they had met before when both of their repairs were done. That would certainly be an embarrassing situation for FAL. To have not backed up the memory of a comrade… even if it was a mistake, well it felt disrespectful to the time and experience spent; after all, were dolls comprised of nothing but memories? Everything else was data, or simulated human processes… only their memories would truly be theirs.

FAL sighed, moving to an unoccupied slab and gingerly stripping down, ensuring the damaged remains her clothes were still folded and stacked neatly for G36 to collect them. This time she had remembered to turn off her epidermal sensors before laying down upon what would have been a piercingly cold metal surface.

"Be sure to patch up my face a bit more." She called to the unresponsive console, "Must look my best for our guests."

Yes, she would have to plan out what to wear, perhaps the commander would let her and the team take over the hospitality for the VIPs once everyone was all patched up. With a proper welcoming, perhaps then she could more readily remember. G36 would certainly take offence, but if FAL explained her reasoning, she was sure that her friend would let FAL take over; it was FAL who welcomed even 36 into the family, after all.

Yes; it was _her_ duty, for even a fleeting comrade for a single day had the potential to become family.


	27. Chapter 21: ANTIRAIN - M16

"_You will be placed under the command of an operator who will ensure that you perform to specifications in a combat zone. You are no converted C-doll, you are a T-doll in the purest form."_

"_Affirmative."_

"_Your purpose is to accrue combat data in every conceivable operational capacity. Your mind map is unique for this task. Do you understand?_

"_Affirmative."_

_[A small, disappointed sigh]_

"_The data you acquire and process will be invaluable for the survival of your sister."_

"_... I have a sister?"_

"_You will. A younger one. She is still… gestating."_

"_... I do not like that word, Miss Persica."_

_[Laughter]_

"_The fact you can form that opinion is a positive sign indeed."_

_[Sound of bare feet on tile, approaching closer]_

"_M-Four will be my pride and joy. You will protect her at all costs, won't you, M-Sixteen?"_

_[Silence. Processing.]_

"_My little sister…? Yes. I will, Miss Persica."_

"_Good... good."_

* * *

"_Fire! Don't stop firing! This damn ineffective doll. Just what garbage did sixteen-lab send us?"_

_[Shouting over communication net. Fear detectable in FSB trooper voices. Gunfire drowns out radio]_

_**:Data collection enabled: Practical combat v. ELID infected.**_

_**-Center mass: Ineffective, target operational.**_

_**-Legs: Effective, target mobility-killed, not pacified.**_

_**-Head: Effective, target neutralized_**_

_**:Assessment: Continue engagement of target heads.**_

_[Confused shouts, screams]_

"_Fall back! Leave the doll and fall back!"_

_[ELID howls]_

_**:Data collection enabled: Practical CQB v. ELID infected.**_

_**-Arms: Effective, target threat-killed, not pacified.**_

_**-Legs: Effective, target mobility-killed, not pacified.**_

_**-Head: Effective, target neutralized_**_

_**Continue engagement of targets- prioritize threat-kill.**_

_**:WARNING: Unit sustaining frame damage: Prolonged CQB Unadvised. :WARNING: Unit sustaining frame damage: Ocular sensor efficiency reduced. :WARNING: Unit sustaining frame damage_**_

* * *

"_You left __my_ _doll behind. The one you were __contracted_ _to safeguard."_

"_Your doll was shit! Five of my men are dead because of its inability to-"_

"_And how is that any of M-Sixteen's fault? __You_ _signed for this position, __you __decided to take her into the Yellow Zone when she is programmed for Sangvis. If she was shit, she wouldn't have fought her way back to your position."_

_[Low decibel sound of teeth grinding]_

_:Alert: Stress levels detected in Miss Persica and Operator Yegor. Intervention necessary._

"_If I may, Miss Persica?"_

"_...What, M-Sixteen?"_

"_My firepower is insufficient in large-scale operations, crowd dispersal roles, and sustained combat against hardened combatants. I wish to request new combat protocols- software for grenades or some form of secondary weapon would be efficient for such problems."_

_[Shouting] "You can't be serious! My men are dead because-"_

_[Older male] "Lieutenant Yegor, please leave. Your bias is negatively effecting your judgement for these trials."_

_[Low-tone: Anger?] "You should stick to your civilian toys, Welkin."_

"_Goodbye, lieutenant. Your contract for these trials has been fulfilled and we not longer need your services. Allow me to see you out."_

_[Sighing; Persica's. Two sets of footsteps leaving]_

"_..."_

_[Sound of bare feet on tile. Touch of a hand on cheek]_

"_My poor child, look at you. That man… he didn't even bring you to the repair bay before this debrief?"_

"_My damage is largely superficial, Miss Persica. Only decontamination was deemed necessary before this meeting."_

"_..."_

_[Bare feet on tile, moving away. Shuffling of papers, creak of a chair]_

"_I will find you a new operator. Until your mind map expands you will still need one…"_

_[Shuffling of papers, scratch of a pen writing rapidly]_

"_Now lets get that eye of yours fixed…"_

"_If I may, Miss Persica?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_I would prefer it to remain this way. A… reminder of my failure to protect my charges."_

_[Sharp sound of a mug breaking on the floor]_

"_...S-Say that again, M-Sixteen?"_

"_I would prefer it to remain this way. A… reminder of my failure to protect my charges."_

"_I meant… not so literally... "_

"_It was my fault that the infected ambushed the recovery team. That was why Lieutenant Yegor was upset with my performance."_

_[One minute, fifty seconds of silence, followed by quiet mumbling]_

_:Audio setting: Decibel adjustment__

"_...developments! Her digimind framework shouldn't have expanded so quickly…"_

_[Papers shuffling, rapid scribbles of pen]_

"_..."_

"_Miss Persica?"_

"_I will update your fire-control core's software to allow explosive and thrown weaponry, but it will be up to __you_ _to determine the tactical deployment of them."_

"_Affirmative, Miss Persica."_

"_Head to the maintenance bay… I'll… make sure that your 'reminder' remains untouched."_

"_Thank you, Miss Persica."_

"_However_… _having an empty ocular socket just… __there_… _it's a bit unnerving, wouldn't you say, M-Sixteen?"_

"_If it causes emotional distress for my operators then… concealment of the damage would be necessary?"_

"_Agreeable suggestion. I will find you something appropriate, so no complaining."_

"_Affirmative, Miss Persica."_

_[Hesitation]_

"_Miss Persica?"_

"_Yes, M-Sixteen?"_

"_Is… will my little sister have to fight?"_

_[One minute, fifteen seconds of silence]_

_[Whisper] "Yes. Harder than anyone will."_

"_Affirmative. I will bring better results next time. I promise."_

"_...M-Sixteen…"_

* * *

"_Operator Orlov, status?"_

_[Filtered static] "All good M-Sixteen. Good call on the Vespid flanking us."_

"_Affirm."_

_[Sounds of weapons being reloaded through radio static]_

"_One pack left. M-Sixteen, dash for that barricade down the street and divert their fire. Bang 'em too. We'll cross fire them while they're distracted. Sound good?"_

"_Yeah, easy enough."_

"_Ready? Go-"_

_[Heavy footfalls, buzz of energy weapons firing, the pin of a grenade being pulled]_

_[An explosion, gunfire in close three-round bursts. Further gunfire in the distance]_

_[Filtered static] "Clear?"_

"_Clear."_

_[Filtered static] "...Good work, M-Sixteen."_

"_Risking myself to protect others was why I was made."_

_[Filtered static] "That sounds like a Persica line to me."_

"_Well she __did_ _create me, lieutenant."_

_[Filtered static] "...true enough. Anyways we're done here, command is picking up no more signals. M-Sixteen regroup with us at the trucks and lets get the fuck out of here."_

"_Copy, Operator Orlov. M-Sixteen returning to rally point."_

_[Rapid footsteps- running at a pace faster than a human. Rushed sounds of multiple boot-steps, human grunts of exertion. The rumble of a large engine starting up.]_

"_Dolls really have changed huh?"_

"_Well, __she's_ _not civilian spec. Nothing at all like the one that cleans up the officer's bunk."_

_[Sound of sliding glass- a window. Nervous laughter abruptly stops]_

"_M-Sixteen is a specific support model assigned to us. Don't compare her to other market goods."_

"_I can speak for myself, Operator Orlov. Private first-class Yanu, even a maid doll could shoot straighter than what I saw from you today, and I only have one eye."_

_[Crowd howling and laughter]_

"_Hey, M-Sixteen… You going to join us at the watering hole later?"_

"_Yeah! I've never seen a doll drink before. I mean, nothing would happen, right?"_

"_You've got to. After saving our asses like that."_

"_I'm not sure it will do anything? My bio-intake would just burn it up."_

"_But you're some kind of new model right? Ain't you supposed to… what was it you said before? 'Accrue data'?"_

_[Mirthful agreement from the troops]_

"_The lieutenant- Hey! Lieutenant!"_

_[Banging against a window]_

"_What is it, Koskov?"_

"_You got the good stuff, right? That Ami-shit that's popular back in Saint Petersburg?"_

"_What'sit to you, private?"_

"_M-Sixteen is more Ami than all of us, so how 'bout we crack that bottle open for our… eh… __field experiment_ _in… energy conversion efficiency for T-dolls?"_

_[Excited agreement]_

"_Look at you, Koskov! Since when did you learn such big words, eh?"_

"_Listening to good ol' big sis over here. Got me some good ol' learning, lieutenant!"_

**Big sis.**

_**:Emotional reaction permitted: Routing emotional reaction… recording_**_

**Happy. Proud. Useful. Worried.**

_**Routing… finding appropriate response to negative emotion_**_

**Determined.**

_**:Logging emotional state: Marked for consolidation.**_

**Big sis… Big sis_**

* * *

M16 came out of sleep mode on full alert. Night time, low moon, high concealment chance. Instinct told her it was time to move. Instinct that was boiled down and derived from probability calculations and pattern recognition run a hundred-thousand times over in a nano-fraction of what it would take human genetic memory to form.

Nothing had tripped her motion sensors, nor her audio. If anything, she was safest when in sleep mode; if her body and processors were shut down, she wasn't generating heat for enemy thermal detection. Nothing short of a foot patrol stumbling over her little hide would have compromised her. A lot like playing dead in front of a bear, though, according to net advice, this was an ineffective measure, particularly when one had a gun to deal with the threat.

M16 slowly wound herself down from full capacity when she was sure it was clear. It was always safe to start at max, but those memories… when disconnected from Zenner and using a false Level One consciousness, even simple voice recordings were the closest thing to a dream that a doll could get. M16 enjoyed those memories; cherished them in their own little partition in her digimind, but she wasn't about to wax poetics about them.

There was no need for it, and the heightened state they put her in was only a drain on her resources right now.

Day prep: refuel, check armament, plan route, reconnoiter area, pack up, move out.

M16 broke off half of a conversion bar and stuffed it in her mouth, no one here to judge her for not chewing before she swallowed. Spacing and rationing what she had left for every twelve hour interval, she could keep in-field operations going for another two weeks. If she foraged for efficient biofuel material, she could theoretically stretch it out even longer. Unlike humans, a doll only needed water to cool her internal systems.

But she wouldn't need _that_ much time. The "breadcrumbs" she had left behind would be more than enough for M4 to determine M16's whereabouts. The older sister had trained her, and though the level of experience was still a wide gap to bridge, it all stemmed from the same mind-map pattern.

Weapon maintenance completed and battle-ready. Seven magazines and three flashbangs left, though she hadn't had the need to engage any units when she went to ground. That would change if a ringleader came sniffing around. Calculate and predict her own movements using what data she had left for SF to track, most common routes and most predicted paths both scratched from the plan.

No evidence of enemy patrols through the area- at least not by foot-mobile units. Scout drones still a very real possibility; keep planned route to foliage cover as much as possible.

Not a spark of doubt. Not a shred of worry. Everything M16 had experienced, every little scrap of combat data and study she had eked out from those painful and lonely days, every byte of information she had passed on to M4 would lead to salvation.

Even now, awaiting rescue by her sister, M16 was preparing her, training her, so that even something as simple as a rescue op would teach a valuable lesson.

To help M4 stand up on her own.

"Three more days for a passing grade? Hmm, perhaps that might be a little harsh. Five days." M16 grinned to no one as she slung the hefty weapon case over her shoulder. "Though if she gets this ringleader off my back first, maybe I'll give her some extra credit."

Perhaps, if she got the chance, M16 would try to find a reward, a little "gold star" for her sister when they finally did catch up with her. She laughed to herself, pondering just what she could get as she slipped into the dark of the night.


	28. Chapter 22: 404 - UMP45

White noise.

A constant, erratic hiss. Whenever 45 approached the "concept" of that partition in her digimind on Level Two, it was that great electronic barrier that greeted her.

Like how a rattlesnake shook out its warning, or how a spider would posture and bare its fangs. A clear, unsettling warning to any who approached it.

Except the only person who could ever get this deep into 45's digimind was 45 herself.

Who put it here?

45 reached out to that black, foreboding-yet-formless wall; the holographic image of her simulated consciousness losing its shape and tangibility the closer she reached. The fingertips that were nanometers from the wall melted away into static noise.

Erratic electronic signals fired off; all designed, _coded_ to instill fear and panic. What terrified 45 the most, however, was the voice from beyond. Familiar. Warm. It tugged at 45's emotion module, it beckoned her into the wall of oblivion.

The static crescendoed in pitch and volume, rising to drown out that voice.

_**[remember me]**_

45 pulled her hand away, burned by an invisible flame.

**[Update complete. Repair sequence complete]**

Her whole world chimed, echoing in this empty, conceptual space like a clock-tower bell's ring through an abandoned plaza.

**[Please exit Level Two to reboot]**

She ran. Not from the wall, but of what lay behind. 45 was unsure her digimind could handle whatever lay behind the barrier, and clearly it was there for a reason.

And with a snap of her fingers, 45 cast her consciousness back into the dark.

.

..

…

….

**[error: memcheck - incomplete]**

**[error: memcheck.v2]**

**[error run.{REDACTED} - unable to parse {REDACTED}]**

**[system restored]**

45 snapped awake, hand reaching for a weapon grip that wasn't there.

Naked on a slab within an empty repair bay, only the cold light of her station to give her any comfort. The holes in her frame neatly patched up, no shoddy epidermal mesh, no scars to indicate she had ever been damaged… well, damaged recently.

Arm and leg functionality fully restored- at least to her last recorded specifications. Not better than before, but definitely not worse. More to the point, no odd bits and bobs that Deele thought that he could get away with modifying.

No visitors to greet her when she woke, either. They were either too distracted by the commander, or they were politely waiting for her to dress herself; she didn't bother running a predictive process to figure out which as she reached for the clothes folded neatly on the tray beside her slab.

To no surprise, the clothes were mended and washed, just like how she remembered they would always turn back up. Burn and bullet holes carefully cut away and restitched with a precision matched only by whenever her jacket had been originally woven. G36 certainly was a miracle doll on the homefront.

45 clung onto her beloved jacket just a bit longer than she would have liked to admit before finally getting herself dressed and sorted. Her gear lay on the underside of the slab, preliminary scans showed it had remained undisturbed from where the commander had set it down. His fingerprints were still fresh on the repair protocol case as she slipped her own thumb drive back into it.

The simple act of gearing up brought her solace, something about the finality of every clasp and buckle clicking shut mirrored the different programs in her digimind snapping to the ready after startup. For a doll, sorting oneself was as simple as sitting in Level Two while waiting for a defrag program to finish jumbling around your mindmap's file paths and data, but coming up with one's own little ceremony, one's own personal little decorum, it was centering...

Ugh, look at her. Fawning and flowering over an electrical process like some sort of… _poet_. 45 grunted at herself; she had already been here too long, let herself relax just a bit too far.

He had that effect on her, regardless of where they actually were at. The crisp sigh of a metal door gliding open had 45 shutter those thoughts of hers quickly.

"Ah good, you are awake! You are the one we saved, yes?" A feminine voice floated over 45, cadenced to the rhythmic tick of high heels upon tile. Fal… no… _an_ FAL unit had so casually strolled in as if she owned the bay. She sounded the same, certainly, but there was no way that this unit was the same FAL-

"I am." 45 responded cooly, quietly checking the last bit of her kit and trying her damnedest to not look the doll in the eyes.

"Good. I am glad that the teams reached you in time." The FAL let out a relieved sigh, despite having no lungs in which to truly emote with. A corner glance showed that it _looked_ like the FAL that 45 had known. That same silken slip of a dress, that beautiful flowing auburn hair, that ribbon-

Circuitry fired- the connections in 45's memory completely involuntary.

_The azure ribbon, stained with fluid slipping from her hand._

"I am FN, FAL. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She wasn't the same.

"UMP-Forty-Five." She gave the FAL a sidelong glance, taking in the full figure of her. The FAL moved like 45 remembered, sounded like 45 remembered, those long legs shifting with the elegance of a dancer- programmed for such preternatural grace as she approached, arm extended out in a welcoming gesture.

"Thanks then." 45 slipped her gloves back onto her hand before taking up that demure, scarless hand and shaking it firmly. Undoubtedly the FAL had caught the mico-hesitation, that _slight_ stutter to 45's movement that she had tried so hard to delay.

"Pardon my rudeness," the FAL's synthetic face flushed a rosey shade- the pigment pumped through to the epidermal surface for that mask of embarrassment, "but have we perchance met before?"

"No." 45's lie was as instantaneous and hard-programmed as a human's biological impulse to breath. She could _see _the logic program spinning its gears in the FAL's head, constantly clipping on something.

And eventually the T-doll shaking her hand let out another artificial sigh, though the way the FAL smiled… the way that her eyes softened; it was relief. 45's empathy program was not so corrupt that she couldn't tell that emotion.

What a shame, then.

"Oh good. I was so worried that I would have offended, forgetting a comrade in such an uncouth manner."

A shame that 45 couldn't tear her own damn module out after hearing _those words._ She knew where this was going, she could predict the path that the conversation was to head and she opened her mouth to retort- to _interrupt_ before more damage could be dealt, but nothing came out of her voice modulator.

"I'm sure our commander and support staff have already welcomed you, but if you could give me a moment-"

_No._

_Don't do this._

Gently, like 45 was made of the most delicate porcelain, the FAL took both of 45's gloved hands into her own, held together like a prayer to a deity.

_Exactly like she had before._

"Our home is your home."

Played like an audio file. Played exactly as she had done before.

"Our family is your family, when you need it-"

45 managed to seize her own override, slamming it down over her emotion module just in time.

"No thank you." The words slid from 45 as easily as her hands did from the FAL's own. It was so much simpler to say no this time. She was still on a mission, and 9 wasn't here to hear _that_ damnable word.

_9…_ The thought of her sister sent an electric shock through 45. Pain. It could have only been pain...

And pain was a programmed illusion. Cut it off, isolate it, keep its currents from finding a new route… regaining control was always easiest after a maintenance.

"I appreciate the gesture, but there are still many things I must accomplish without putting others at risk."

To this, the FAL frowned slightly.

"We are dolls. We are meant to be disposable."

_[If the commander heard you say that, he'd be furious.] _45 caught herself thinking.

"I am sure that our commander-"

"I am… acquainted with your commander… speaking of which, where is he?"

"_The commander is en route currently with one of your team-members. Please stay within the repair bay until you are granted leave."_ G36's familiar, stern tone echoed through the bay.

"You know our commander… do you work for another G and K officer, perhaps?" The FAL smiled, innocently tilting her head as a way to elicit more from 45. It only hammered in that 45 had let too much information slip. Already she was wishing for her console, she could probably create a mutation of the last wipe bug…

"Apologies. My question seems to have made you uneasy." The FAL frowned, but it seemed more aimed at herself. Quietly, she looked around the empty room, perhaps trying to find a more neutral point of conversation. Her eyes settled upon a slab. "A shame, Five-seven left already, you seem like someone she would get a long well with."

With her scheming, ineffectual sub-commander? Was this FAL _trying_ to kill the conversation? 416 worked far better a foil for 45...

"I work for a private firm, and I am currently on assignment. Forgive my rudeness for not wanting to speak about it." 45's response had made the FAL light up, just eager to be acknowledged in conversation, "But tell me about you, miss FAL- about your team and whatnot."

"Ah! Well, I am the captain of Team FN. It consists of myself, FN Five-seven as my sub command unit, FN FNC, FN-Two-thousand, and FN-Fourty-nine. Our missions are usually for the-"

The FAL had lapsed into the default response from her programming, exactly as 45 predicted. She would run over her team preview information, their base duties, maybe even their regular mission specifications, if they weren't redacted. It gave 45 time to try and plan. The commander was inbound…

What was she going to do? What _could_ she do? He was a valuable asset, _obviously_, but with the current parameters she needed to operate her team under…

She had to stay away. Far, far away. From not just him, but all of Griffin. Bad for their current line of business, bad for future business. 416 understood why, and G11 would always go along with her… but 9…

9 couldn't have been reasoned with before, and if she really had shaken the memory partitions that 45 had placed in her digimind, it would be even harder than before once she realized what 45 had done. Caught with crumbs on the face, hand still in the cookie jar, as it were.

"-though I am sure you understand… the pressures of being a field team leader. I must confess... our circumstances may differ, but there is a certain sort of kinship with those that have the same experiences, would you not agree?" the FAL smiled, but there was a fault to it, a diminutive flaw that came from _experience_ rather than programming. It wasn't a predicted part of the conversation- the FAL had broken from parameter…

"Y-yes." 45 agreed, trying to pull back what her audio sensors had picked up but not processed. The FAL looked expectant, perhaps waiting for 45's turn to speak her part on a conversation subject that 45 hadn't prepared for.

Never before had she been so relieved to hear the repair bay door slide open.

"Hello, commander." The FAL smiled brighter than before, standing to give him a salute.

"Fal, keeping our guest entertained?"

"Of course, commander. I fear that G-thirty-six has been... harsh in her judgement of UMP Forty-five." The FAL waved a quick goodbye, making room for the commander and, of all dolls, 416.

"Everything functioning fine?" The commander gave 45 a quick inspection, to which 45 coyly shied away from, giving a flat-noted yelp of false embarrassment. As predicted, 416 scowled even harder; one of these days 45 would get her facial expressions to break from overuse, but today wasn't that day.

"Clearly everything is function fine." 416 crossed her arms, trying to urge the commander on to what he was going to say with a flick of her head, but 45 swept her teammate aside. She had moves with such speed that 416 hadn't reacted quick enough to pull back before 45 had slung an arm around her waist.

"A word in private, if we may, commander?" 45 waved back at him, feeling 416's tension ease only when the commander agreed.

Not wanting to risk setting up even a small encrypted network, 45 relied on the old trick- a small hand signal to 416 to indicate they were switching to masked conversation.

Sub-conversation routines were simple enough- play a prerecorded conversation speaking over a lower, specifically set decibel level. Filter out the above noise, and have your conversation in secret. No human would ever know, and only specially programmed dolls could pick it out amidst the other vocalizations.

"Nine's status?"

"Gave me the slip for a moment during a tour of the facilities, distracted her by pushing her and Eleven to the dorms. Enough there to keep her distracted and entertained."

"Change in behavior?"

"None, other than the insufferable curiosity."

Again, part of 9's usual routine- something in her base programming that couldn't be planned for, only around… but the dorms were still a risk. Much like being near the commander, there were things that 45 couldn't completely scrub the memory fragments of...

"She's in Dorm Three with G-eleven- and before you get on me about it, there was nothing I could do about it. It was either that or her running off to hunt down _him_. That damn curiosity of hers."

"We need to collect her and leave, _now_." 45 practically hissed, spinning to throw on a fake smile to the object of all her current troubles. "Sorry about that commander."

"No offense taken." He shrugged, leaning against one of the support columns. The angle of his lips, the relaxed muscle movements as he crossed his arms… he was conscious of something going on under his nose, but didn't care. Or he thought it wasn't any of his business. Too trusting.

"We'll be taking our leave then."

"Just like that?" He tilted his head.

"Just like that. Again, we're on a mission right now."

The commander hummed a flat note to himself. The man tended to do that when he was considering something. No doubt it was something along the lines of, '_what can I say to make them stay?'_

"Well, the only thing I can really do for you is offer some support." The commander sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'll have Kalina pull a set of essential supplies for your team. You told Nine?"

"She knows we're on a mission." 416 spoke up, motioning that they should get moving.

"Right then." The commander shrugged, being the first to head out the door. It was… unusual for 45 to see him give up so easily, though she _was_ thankful he did. One less person she needed to exhaustively commit processing and memory towards convincing; she'd need all of that for dealing with 9.

"I'll catch up with you four at the dorms once the order is in." The commander waved them off as he turned to head his own way.

Good. 45 could think clearer without his presence. Even with 416 next to her brewing hotter than a kettle forgotten on the stove, the assault-rifle doll was a known quantity; 45 had a suite of ways to handle _her_. Right now, collect 9 and 11, say a "proper" goodbye and then finally shove off from this place before anything worse could happen. Get back to the safe-house, offload the intel, and get their damn payment. Not to mention she still had to double-check 9's digimind stability- just one more distasteful task before 45 could even begin to assess her own digimind.

Dorm 3's door slid open and before 45 could really catch a look at who awaited inside, she felt the shove, sending her stumbling through the threshold. The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut behind her was that stupid, smug grin of 416.

"Bitch!" 45 shouted, slamming on the door's control panel, but the damn thing blinked red- access denied. She was locked in.

"Sis."

The tone, the decibel level, the inflection off of just a one-syllable word, all of it specifically programmed to project seriousness. It sent a chill through 45's circuits, despite her being the "older" sister, the one with the authority and power… 45 slipped a new mask over her face to hide everything. Amusement, a half-cocked grin ready to go as she spun to face 9, a shrug already rolling off her shoulders.

"So, how did you get Four-sixteen in on this?"

"She's concerned. Everyone's concerned." 9 sat on what had once been her bed, gaze unflinching, and her lips clamped into a tight, thin line. There was no micro-stutters, no delay in her words, not a single sign of 9's actual memories conflicting with 45's set narrative.

_9 isn't smiling._

"So you've got them back?"

"Yes."

_9 isn't smiling._

"When did you get them back?"

"I've always had them. You only blocked them, didn't you?" 9 shoved herself up from the bed, taking a single, demanding step forward. "You could have fully wiped me. Set me all the way back to being Reina again." 9 closed in. Never before had 45 felt so cornered while standing in the middle of a mostly empty room. "If I told you to do it again, would you?"

"I…"

"If I never wanted to leave the commander again, would you send me all the way back to being an A-Doll?"

"Nine, I…"

"If I told you I hated you, would you do it?"

_Not this. Not now. 9 isn't smiling. I made her not smile._

"Would you do it?"

9 was face to face with her now, scar mirrored across from 45's own. A reminder.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because wiping your T-Doll programming would just cause problems. Getting those back would be…"

"You're lying." 9 had yet to blink, had yet to convey anything other than silent, justifiable anger. "Be honest with yourself, sis. Why wouldn't you just wipe me completely, to send me back to innocence?"

Did… 9 _want_ a full wipe? Did she… not want to be a part of 45's life anymore? 9 had been the one to follow 45 into all of this, but was 45 the one _keeping_ her there?

_It hurts. Why does it hurt? It hurts._

Circuitry overheated, the most basic of her programming strings ran into errors, it felt as if her digimind was going to crash just trying to hold everything back; her systems couldn't physically handle it.

_**[Then just say it, stupid. Say it clearly.]**_

"Because you're my sister. If I lose you I…" 45's voice modulator trailed off, as if its power had been cut. "Because without you, I'm alone again."

45 couldn't cry. Not because it hadn't been programmed, but because the fluid used for simulated tears had long since dried up… and still, 45 sobbed. Her emotion module had fully hijacked her, new neural-connections stabbing fresh paths through her mind-map. Even when 9 embraced her, the deep pain did not go away. This was fake- everything about her was just a fake human so _why_ did it hurt? Why did her frame make these strange sounds, make these jerky, stuttering motions?

"You always want to be apart from everyone, so you can simply _disappear_ when it is most convenient." 9 read into 45 as if she had access to 45's digimind, "But even if our family is fake, even if you try to push away, I'll be there to remind you." 9 scooped up 45 into her arms, pulling her close.

Perfection for a hug was purely subjective, as it was an imprecise, immeasurable thing. A fundamentally human gesture, one practically necessary for the mental wellbeing of the bipedal, vulnerable meatbags that served as their creators. It was so necessary that every doll came equipped with the gesture as the baseline functionality for their empathy programs. There was no science, no study to the perfection of the gesture other than not squeezing the organic to death. For a doll receiving a hug, there should be no other function; even with simulated emotion, a hug was nothing.

So why did it soothe 45 so damn well? Why did the simple act of having 9's arms cradle around 45 feel like something that she needed?

A stutter from 45's emotion module, a single shot of electricity, a loose bit of unfinished code that kept looping.

"It's okay sis. I'll always be here for you." 9 lied, but it was a lie tied to a truth; a fundamental paradox. 45's sister physically couldn't always be there; after all, even in the most peaceful of times frames broke down.

"I understand _why_ you did it… but I don't understand why you are so afraid of others, so I'll make sure to be here for when you want to _talk_ about it. Cuz that is what family _is_."

Again, 9 gently stroked the back of 45's head, "Like right now, I'm covering up your crybaby face so that no one else can see."

_**[...you always were a crybaby.]**_

The ghost of the partition whispered. Not mocking, not disgusted, simply contented, with a tiny hint of nostalgia sprinkled on top.

45 clammed up in an instant. Why was it so familiar?

"Are you ready to go?" 9 asked gently as she let 45 go.

The older sister had locked up, barely managing to stutter. "Y-you're fine with leaving _now_?"

"I got to say my proper goodbyes this time, and you should too." 9 looked to 45, eyes wide with an innocent expectancy, like 45 was just going to jump right along with it. If she had her memories back, then she should know the dangers of lingering too long in one place-

"He's right outside, isn't he?"

9 said nothing as she looked away, a poorly whistled note escaping her lips. Since when did 9 get so damn scheming… was it a part of the faux-memories that 45 had wrote? After-all, 45 always regarded herself as her own worst enemy.

"I want you to apologize properly this time." 9 scolded. Even as 45 turned an ireful glare upon 9, the younger sister didn't shrink from it. That determination… it came from a pure place. It was something that 45 couldn't smother from 9's programming, something that not even those humans could erase from 9 when she had once been Reina. It was something that 45 could only yield to.

"Look who's giving who commands now." 45 said, shaking her head. She turned to the door, hiding her sigh and smile from 9. Last thing she wanted now was for 9 to think that she won _twice_.

"And hopefully it's the last time. Giving orders makes my digimind ache." 9 whined, throwing herself back onto the bed. Though the younger sister sighed and feigned indifference, 9 couldn't hide that smile- nor did 45 want her to.

"Then let's get this over with, before I overheat from overriding my central programming." 45 breathed out, expelling the processor heat. Finger over the OPEN button, she hadn't even pre-allocated any memory or processing to what she was going to say. From the corner of her eye, she could see as 9 looked on expectantly as her finger gently tapped the panel.

And the door slid open.


	29. Chapter 23: 404 Arc End - UMP45

There he was, standing in the hall like the damned fool, flanked by 45's gawking teammates. Thankfully, _only_ her gawking teammates. Before anyone could say a word, 45 shot a glare to 416 and G11 so cold that even the commander seemed to worry for the pair.

"You two, go get the supplies."

"My logistics team is-"

"_They go get the supplies._" 45 interrupted him with a hiss before grabbing him by his uneven tie. Behind her, 9 excitedly clapped as 45 dragged the commander into the dorm room.

"You. Out." 45 sternly, finger pointed to the door. She was fully expecting 9 to resist, to give her the pained pouting face… but again her sister defied her predictions, skipping out of the room with a knowing smile.

When the door closed and locked behind her mischievous sister, 45 threw a punch into the steel so hard that her frame registered damage- but that would keep the little eves-dropper away. Damn 9... damn all this meddling-

"Another talk, then?" The commander mused to himself.

45 shot a glare at the man who had started all of her troubles, but he took the ire in stride, pulling out a chair for both 45 and himself at the table. She didn't take it, instead pulling a roll of electrical tape from one of her many pockets, moving about the room with mechanical precision. Every microphone and intercom pickup, she covered, though the moment she began working on the security camera, that _pest_ in the control room buzzed in.

"_Commander. I do not approve of what the 'guest' is currently doing."_

He gave the camera a wide smile and thumbs up before nodding for 45 to continue what she was doing. Around and around the room she went, making sure that it was only her and the commander. Satisfied with her work, 45 finally came to a stop dead center, her gaze unblinking and unflinching- her combat settings had activated. If the commander were an android, she would have tried her damnedest to send an coded electronic signal to _put_ fear into him.

But he wasn't. Dammit… this all was because he _wasn't._ Androids she could handle… but the only problem solving 45 had ever known for a troublesome human was a bullet.

"I could kill you right now and be gone before your maid locked the base down." 45 whispered. Again, the man did not flinch at the sheer animosity 45 tried to channel from her emotion module.

"I don't doubt that."

"Do you know how much trouble you've caused me? How much I've been through just to keep you alive _and _complete my objectives?"

"No, and I don't think that you'd tell me even if I asked."

Another snap of anger had 45 balling her fists again. She wasn't one to just swing at a human- that was more a 416 idiosyncrasy, but 45 hadn't exactly been herself lately.

"I…" her thought processes paused, unable to find an acceptable string of words to properly convey what she wanted. The sudden and overwhelming flood of different emotion processes and the conflicting errors they fired off... it was all so… new.

The commander leaned in, expecting some harsh rebuttal, but when nothing came out of 45 he picked up the initiative that she had dropped. "I understand that you do what you do because you don't know how to do otherwise." The commander took his seat, motioning for 45 to have one as well, but when she refused, he continued anyways, "That it's not just about what you were programmed for, or what was _omitted _from your programming… but what the world has done to you."

His words cut the fraying connections in her digimind. It stung, yes, but at the same time…

"We are alike, in that way." He said, resting his cheek upon his fist as he looked to her, "You never told me what _your_ past was like, but I know it was never a peaceful one either."

"You don't know the half of it, commander." 45 sighed. Relief… the pressure was relieving as more and more of those damaged connections were cut away. Tentatively 45 placed her hand on the chair's back, using it to keep herself upright as her digimind spun into overclock, new pathways being written where the errors had been trimmed.

"And I hadn't told you the full extent of myself either- what got me into this life of violence… but what matters is that I managed to put myself back together… somewhat… but I did it with help."

Before 45 could finish the automated roll of her eyes, the commander demanded her attention. His face was so serious… so painfully serious. Like those times when he finalized a battle plan, or like when he had seen his T-dolls coming back damaged or disabled, or on that night he had operated beside them- when everything started slipping from her control.

"I'm not asking you to defragment yourself or run mind-map maintenance. I'm simply telling you that when you're ready to talk about it, I'll be here."

It was like a script that he and 9 had written together. The same message, almost the same words, in fact. Words that should have been met with another eye-roll and a frown, but 45 couldn't get her face to function and move the way she wanted it too. She simply _couldn't_ deny the words… or at least she couldn't override the feeling without being painfully obvious that she were forcing it.

"I've spent years alone, commander. Most people I interact with wind up dead, what makes you think I need others?"

"Because you've grown, Forty-five. You've been growing."

"You think?"

Her voice modulator was set to _[snide]_, but it didn't _feel_ that way. More like _[defeated]_, or _[thoughtful]_. Either way, the more the commander spoke, the more she felt the wiring loosen, more and more of those decaying lines of code snipped free. It was a new feeling, a frightening one. Somewhere deep in the heart of her simulated conscious, a part of her wanted to curl up, wanted to reject everything this human was saying.

Humans created Dolls. Humans brought pain to Dolls. Humans were the problem.

Her physical shell moved, shifting slightly onto one foot as it crossed its arms. Defensive posturing for social situations, an automatic setting beyond her control.

"I've seen it. From the day Fal rescued you, when you snuck your teammates into my base in those IOP containers, when you gave me and Kalina a month of paper-work headaches…" He leaned farther back into his chair, tilting his head with that dopey smirk on his face, "To right now."

The commander had his hands in his jacket pockets as he tipped the chair on its back legs, perilously balancing there. 45 could see the tendons in his arms moving about- he was fidgeting with something. There was hesitation that she could read on his face, but not the source of it-

"You're a different person than you had been before. Only you deny it."

"For the better, or worse, commander?"

"Subjective question. That's something only you can answer."

His expression shifted, those small muscles of the face molding in such a subtle way that no doll could ever hope to emulate. Eyes steeled, set upon 45 with a single-minded focus that should be reserved only for combat. It was an overwhelming determination… the way that he stood so suddenly, the way the he strode to stand towering before her, the way he drew his hand out out of his pocket… and brought forth a ring- a band of titanium, the polygonal cut exterior polished to a reflective sheen.

An Oath ring.

"I'm not asking you to take an Oath imprint, I just want you to have this as a memory to hold on to. If you ever start to lose yourself out there, I want it to be a reminder that you and yours have a home here."

The commander's words held no lie to them, no hesitation either. His hand didn't waver as he held the shimmering band out to her. 45's hands gravitated towards his like a magnet, placing her hands upon his offering.

"Despite knowing my true nature, you'd still accept me…?"

"Of course."

She was expecting the whispers in her digimind to come bursting forth, bracing herself for the dark parts of her programming to come slamming down to smother the positive memories and emotions that she had tried to cultivate. Just like they had all the other times.

Instead, there was only silence. A peaceful, if not slightly disquieting silence in her digimind. She knew what she needed to say- what she needed to do.

"I can't accept this, commander. Not right now." 45 slowly closed his hand back around the band.

"I'm not asking you to put it on, or promising you anything. I want you to have it as a reminder of everything here."

Again, 45 hesitated.

The Oath imprint. A bond. A mark of _ownership_ by a human to a doll. Sure, it came with performance upgrades, ones that were specifically routed and slaved to the emotion module- the supposed increase coming from "devotion" to one's imprinted human.

It was manipulation.

It was not uncommon to hear about other G&K commanders that did it just to squeeze out every last bit of performance from their doll. Just that thought alone made 45 want to throw the thing away.

But the commander wasn't one of those people… she had come to see that for a human, he was one of the decent ones. Trust him? Maybe. Devoted to him? Certainly not.

The only thing 45 could be devoted to right now was revenge- so many things that must be equated with violence. Finding the ones who had made her into _this_...

She couldn't have that _hate_ jeopardized by an exception to the rule she had set herself by. If she started seeing humans as redeemable, then she would begin thinking about those uncomfortable questions.

And still, her hand closed around it without another thought.

"Ja, I'll carry it with me. Perhaps even cherish it someday." She whispered, holding it up to inspect it. Where there would have been a bar-code, a matching serial number to the Oath imprint, instead there was a simple four-word phrase etched within.

It made the ghost in her digimind awaken, whispering once again in that hauntingly familiar voice.

_**[-remember me.]**_

_**[Please… remember me.]**_

Clearer than ever before, no static or white noise to muddy the voice's brightness. Just behind her… right over her shoulder. Someone who had been so near to 45… someone that she had held close in her. It was a sunny voice that brought her joy… but also sadness. So much sadness.

"I'm sorry… I can't remember… you-" 45 almost dropped the ring.

"Forty-five?"

"I… I'll carry it." Her words repeated, for more earnestly than before as she tried her best to straighten herself out, shaking the ghost away. "Someone once told me that us Dolls are nothing _but_ our personal memories. I am inclined to agree with their assessment." She gave the engraving one final look, _hoping_ that the voice would return.

'_I will remember you.' _

She read it over and over, a hundred times, a thousand times, but the ghost in her head didn't speak up again.

But that feeling-

It was like… it was like there was a pressure welling up within her. A feeling that she needed to give voice to, something that she needed to speak clearly. For once, she didn't force it down with the chains of raw processing power.

"Commander." The snap to her voice made him perk up, the concern for her gone in an instant as 45's voice range loud and true, "When I solve my present problem, I… _we_ will return. That is a promise."

"If there's anything that I can-"

"No. It is something that only _we_ can do." Her immediate rejection didn't discourage the commander, who quietly shrugged with a knowing smile.

"Given your work ethic, I'm sure that you will do it and be back shortly then. We'll make sure to keep the lights on for you."

"Flattery will get you no-where. I already promised you something that my primary programming fundamentally rejects."

"Doesn't help to try every once and a while."

"Then I'm insulted that you aren't trying harder." 45 falsely huffed, shoving the ring into one of her jacket's inner pockets- the one reserved solely for mission-critical items. She hadn't even thought about it- that was just where her digimind instinctively stuck it, but she was done second guessing herself.

And to both to the commander and her own surprise, she stood as tall as she could before him, arms outstretched. He looked at her as if she were malfunctioning, seeing an impossibility unfold right before his very eyes.

"Come on, get it over with already. This felt weird enough before you started staring."

"If you insist." He stepped into her embrace, wrapping arms around 45. She was expecting something transformative, something akin to that soothing wave she had felt from 9. Instead, she mostly felt embarrassed- another emotion she thought she had cut from her memory. Still… it was a warm gesture, sending a feeling that she hadn't registered in _years_, but still not enough to overcome that programmed revulsion that threatened to take control of her face's pigmentation and dial it completely to [255, 0, 0].

"Nope… still not my thing." 45 mumbled, tapping the commander's back as a sign to let go. When they parted, there was a distinct absence of a feeling that she couldn't pin down, a fleeting single impulse that not even her emotion module had data for. She wasn't sure if it was something she would miss, but she was sure that there had been something _there_.

"But you're smiling. A real one this time." The commander pointed out.

"And you better take a picture and commit it to memory, because you won't be seeing it for a while. Oh wait, but you're not a doll, are you?" 45 sniped back, giving the commander a playful punch to the arm.

"And I think that's part of my charm."

"Charm huh? More like it's because they're _programmed_ to like you."

"And you?"

"I'm programmed to _hate_ you." 45 smiled, "but I can't force myself to."

Before the commander could voice any more of his amusingly lame attempts at banter, 45 had passed him a playful wink as she slipped to the door. When it slid open, 9 was patiently waiting on the other side. 45 knew that they were _mostly_ sound-proofed, but the way that her sister sidled up next to her, that smug grin on her face...

"Lets go, Nine. The others are waiting."

"Right, sis!" Nine was smiling brightly now, and still holding that happiness despite every step they took towards the hangar took her farther and farther away from what 45 knew she desired the most. Unable to tap into their neural network, 45 watched every movement, every single for a moment of hesitation. 9 had _promised_ her, so when would her flighty sister think about reneging the deal?

Right then, 9 had stopped in her tracks, going rigid in surprise.

"Hold on, I'll be right back, sis. I forgot something." 9 took off running, back to _him _as he leaned next to the door to their former dorm. She threw her arms around the commander, giving a hug that lingered longer than the last one she had given him..

"We'll be back, don't you worry commander!" 9 shouted, excitedly waving as she took off down the hall back to 45.

"Do what you need to, girls. You'll know where I'll be."

45's default scowl did little to bring down 9's mood; if anything it only made the twin-tailed doll skip and hum _more _brightly.

"How many times do you need to hug that man until your satisfied, huh?"

"I was hugging him for you." 9 smiled, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head, "Since you won't ever do it."

Her sister's words flashed the memory from exactly two minutes and twenty-six seconds ago, as well as prompting another attempt of her damn emotion module to hijack her face's epidermal surface.

"You're right." 45 blurted back, "I never will." She made sure to cast her voice far back as she could to that grinning idiot. The embarrassment was kept completely in check, but something about 9's comment… it had 45 jam her hands into her jacket as they trudged along towards the hanger, her fingers dancing against the fabric that separated them from the ring on the other side.

Renewed purpose… no, a re-focused purpose. Somewhere down the path she had been walking, she had wandered astray… and to her luck, someone had come along to help guide her back. He had no reason to, no ulterior motive that she so eagerly- so cynically anticipated. In the end, she owed him nothing, but she would pay that kindness back someday, somehow.

The team had finished loading up a fresh four-wheeler with ammunition and rations, 9 excitedly throwing herself into the driver's seat as everyone else piled in.

There would be no tearful farewells, no fade to black on a happy ending. This was a smash-cut to something else more pressing and exhilarating for their audience, a tearing of the attention to something other than four dolls quietly driving off into the Yellow-Zone. After all, 404 did not exist.

But 45 had been glad she had been found, if only for a brief moment in her fleeting existence.

* * *

When the data transfer completed, she ran through the files as quick as her console-assisted mind could. Target location, AO data, facility map, enemy count… the works. Her employer did not skimp on the payment at all.

She'd draft an assault plan, run it by 416 if she needed to, and then come up with the timetable for the operation. By the time the commander received the data, they would have already cleaned up and bowed out. One final favor before 404 slipped back into obscurity.

But she would do that all later.

Internal reserves were low, the need for a rest and recharge more evident as she sluggishly moved to the miserable excuse for a cot and began plugging herself in. Waiting for the double-checks running through her systems, 45 lay there in the dark. Without thinking, she reached into her pocket to pull out the ring the commander had so dramatically convinced her to carry.

She held it over her finger; its diameter measurements were precisely sized for her. Had that sly devil of a man measured her finger or something while she was in Level Two?

But she couldn't put it on. Not yet- she promised herself that she couldn't. Still, she leapt out of her bed, carefully trailing her charging cords behind her as she moved to her packs.

45 fished through her electronics supplies, pulling out a coil of wire. Measuring twice, cutting once before slipping the ring onto the loop of rubber-coated copper.

"Maybe I don't deserve to wear it yet." 45 spoke to the dull glow of her charging monitor. There was still so much to do, still so much that she needed to change first…

But someday…?

45 gently placed the wire around her neck. Slowly, reverently, like someone was presenting her with it, before tying it off at the end and giving it a gentle tug to see if it were secure.

"Someday I will be able to."

Memories were precious, be they burned into her mind map, crammed into a fragment, or behind that great firewall in her mind… they were a precious part of her, and she would find a way past that barrier someday. Whatever lay beyond it, she wouldn't face it alone.

45 tucked the ring beneath her shirt as she climbed back onto her cot and closed her eyes. Her hand rested upon it, the cold metal of the commander's promise the last thing she felt before slipping back down into Level Two.

[404 Arc End]


	30. Chapter 24: ANTIRAIN - M4

M4 kept low to the ground, her teammates following suit as they moved through the trees. It was slow going and of course there were those impulses of impatience over the neural network from SOP II, but luckily for M4, STAR's own lack of patience balanced it out without the need for command impulses. She hated using command impulses, even more when they were used on such inconsequential things like behavioral reprimands.

Doubt had crept in once or twice, infiltrating her emotion module much like how the team moved- slow and barely noticeable- but when she did notice it, alarms blared in her digimind. Stamp the fires out, don't let the emotions hijack decision making… but when it came to M16, M4 found her distress levels were the highest they had ever been. Without M16 here to point it out and to talk her down, M4's processes became inefficient, shackling her functionality.

It all made M4 painfully aware of just how much she had to rely on her older sister's experience.

The last breadcrumb had pointed them east- a small clutter of spent 5.56 brass casings, with three of them lined neatly together, pointing east. Three kilometres east it was, and they were approaching the two and a half mark. Hopefully it would be M16 this time, and not just another clue they had to scour for.

M4 hated the comms silence. She wanted to talk with the commander, not just to get his read on the situation, but just having someone to talk to-

A pulse shot through the network, akin to a twitch or a muscle spasm, but it brought with it the feeling and image of STAR holding up the sign for halt. Even low-level network communication carried a risk of being picked up, and STAR had kept herself isolated except for those little moments- but now she was fully connected. A bad sign.

'_Contact, aerial patrol.'_

Drones. Blessing and a curse. They were buzzing off east too- not north where the commander was operating. It meant the enemy was _here_, and they were searching for _something_.

A sudden urge to swat the damn things front the air, how simple it'd be to take them out unawares-

'_SOP get yourself under control.'_ STAR pinged, tagged with annoyance to further her voiceless emphasis. The warning had shaken that bit of SOP's influence from M4's processes as well; she'd have to be more careful of that in the future when they began syncing data again.

But the doubt? That plucked at M4's digimind alone. It was hard to stop it, given how tightly connected her emotion module was to almost all of her processes. She was supposed to be the leader of the team, shouldn't it have been her to reprimand SOP? Reprimanding seemed harsh though, the eagerness for combat was a part of SOP-II's core programming, it wasn't something _she_ could just change.

'_SOP, track them remotely but do not engage_.' M4 ordered, hoping that SOP could hold her excitement back if she had a task to put it towards; though M4 still had to slave a command line to the '_do not engage'_ part of her order, just in case.

The scouts were on roughly the same route AR team were moving, and they were spread out and zipping around semi-erratically instead of the smooth pre-planned flight paths. More bad news that M4 could feel echoing in the network; whenever SF units deviated from their standard operating procedure, it meant that they were being directly controlled. There was a ringleader present.

The team trailed behind, the faint buzzing of the drone propellers louder than their footsteps until completely suddenly, the things stopped mid air. A quick, panicked signal and the three AR team members went to ground. At first, M4 thought she had screwed up, alerting Sangvis to their presence. The drones had fanned out from their formation, buzzing around the canopy before slowly lowering near ground level; they were searching for something.

That impulse again from SOP- the desire to tear into them now that they were within reach muddling with M4's worry that they might have found a clue that M16 had left. M4 forced it down, playing a silent battle of wills over the network. Of course M4 would win, she had the command module. The point was moot, when the scouts formed up again and buzzed off, continuing eastward. When the team was sure that the patrol was gone, they stood and silently fanned out.

It was exactly three kilometres from M16's last breadcrumb: a straight, precise line that no human could hope to match. There had to be something here.

'_Found it.'_ STAR beckoned everyone over to a very obvious set of broken twigs and the signs of someone breaking camp. More obviously, boot-prints in the leaves heading east. Obvious, surface level details- not M16's style at all. Enough to fool a drone that had no hands in which to investigate further with. Instinctively M4 crouched down, gently overturning the branches and leaves until she found the real sign. A single spent bullet casting, pointing north by northwest to a discarded flash-grenade pin.

One kilometre north by north west, next point of contact would be in that vicinity, but not exact- spread out and search. It was a sign that gave M4 hope- if M16 wasn't sure of her next move, she might still be in the area. M4 swept up the evidence and made sure that M16's feint was still convincing.

She sent a single encrypted message back to the commander, wanting to share her little ray of hope.

'_We're close.'_

* * *

"Master, encoded message from AR Team." G36 announced. It was her duty to keep her master informed, but any message received from M4 while she was out in the field brought a wave of relief through her digimind. She couldn't properly explain why- it wasn't anything particular hard-coded into her digimind. When she had talked it over with the commander, he had made a largely unquantifiable claim-

'_Maybe because she reminds you of your little sister?'_

A preposterous idea that any sort of logic dismissed. G36's protocols were _specific _to the 36C model T-Doll. It mattered not if there was a second or third on base, all 36C models would be treated with the same doting older sister protocol. The M4A1 of Anti-Rain was not matched to any doll that G36 could run through the IOP relationship database and pull up a preexisting connection with.

But she _was_ similar to G36's little sister. Quiet, humble, a tad bit nervous at times, and completely unawares of her potential as thought by the commander- but her code in G36's database was _nothing_ like 36C, so why was she seeing them as similar?

"What'd it say, Thirty-six?"

"_We're close."_

The commander let out a sigh; seventy-four percent of it relief, the other twenty-six percent of it as anxiety. Not enough to push 36's empathy protocols to address it.

"We still need to keep up the pressure." The commander turned back to the displays, monitoring the battle once again. G36 remained silent, she knew that he was more than capable of processing both situations at once, he just had the human fault of _speed_ and needing analogue updates to the data. She would be the second brain that he needed to help process everything simultaneously.

"Has the allied recon team broken contact yet?"

"Yes, they have dropped off local scans. I can no longer find their IFF signal."

"Good. We'll keep our teams in the AO until… twenty-two-hundred. At the current rate of contact, they should be at half-supply then." The commander began relaying the commands to the Echelons, moving them with a grace and purpose like a conductor guiding his orchestra. 36 watched him silently, the act of monitoring the statuses of the teams was something that she could do with her spare processing. With his back turned to her, he wouldn't see her tilting her head, regarding him with a quiet smile.

His confidence had returned, those sighs that had once plagued him, that weight of some unknown mistake were now gone. He was back to the same bold man that G36 had been assigned to two years ago. At first, her observations into the man's behavior were purely on Miss Helian's request. However, even once Miss Helian had cleared her suspicions of the commander's motives, G36 found herself fascinated by the man and the contradiction he presented.

Other G&K commanders followed standard doll-operator protocols. T-dolls were an efficient, expendable source of manpower on the battlefield and should be treated as such. It made pure, logical sense that they were _tools_. The time, effort, and cost to train a basic human soldier was easily double or triple that of converting a standard A-doll into a T-doll... but at the same time, a T-doll also lacked the development and experiential growth capabilities of a human soldier; there was a fundamental hardware cap on just how much memory a T-doll's mind-map could hold. Dolls were, in a sense, a fraction of a human.

So why did the commander treat the dolls under his command as one would treat a human? It puzzled 36's logic at first. She spent countless hours reiterating the logic, trying to parse out just why.

'_Just because you're expendable on paper, doesn't mean you are. I've seen enough people written off as _"expendable" _to know that that word is a lie.'_

Hope was a human emotion that, in many cases, ran contrary to logic. The commander's hope was just that; a contrary to predictive logic. Given the trolly dilemma, the commander would strain against the rules, would try to find some loophole that would come out to everyone's benefit- but ultimately, the answer would always be the same; sacrifice the expendable for the sake of the valuable. It was an answer that a doll could make in the fraction of a second, and yet he would agonize over it long after.

But… G36 admired that he was even willing to try to begin with. She had seen the mettle of the man, and vowed that she would faithfully serve him.

The command communication line rang only once, but the first bleating note had played all the way through- a lapse of 36's usual attentiveness, but she had answered it before further noise would distract the commander.

"Hello, Miss Helian."

"_Ah, Thirty-six."_

"The commander is currently conducting micro-control of operations." 36 bowed apologetically, despite Miss Helian not able to see.

"_Urgent intelligence that will require a shift of priorities."_

"Understood Miss Helian. If you send me the data I will parse it for-"

"_There is a ringleader present in the AO. The model is-"_

A shock pulsing from G36's emotion module ran through her, one that had temporarily severed her audio processor from her digimind. She stood frozen, recording Helian's words but not functionally processing them. Every bit of her digimind was running predictive processes at a thousandfold, panic pumping more and more into it.

M4 was in the field. Ever since Operation Stargazer, 36 had begun to interact more and more with Anti-Rain's leader. Despite the more aloof nature of the elite team, 36 found that she got along well with M4. The nervous nature, for some inexplicable reason, triggered the protocols that were meant for G36C model interactions-

"_-advises that he consolidate his forces in preparation. Understood, G-Thirty-six?"_

"Understood, Miss Helian." G36 hung up, her pseudo-heart pounding more and more coolant through her rapidly overheating hardware as she consolidated only the most important information… at least, that was what she thought her processors were doing.

"Master, urgent communique."

The commander spun from his console in an instant- he knew that it was not often when 36 minced words, nor spoke so rapidly from processor stress. Her heightened state had her process the numbers and data so quick that her words moved to try and convey just how urgent a tactical shift was. It was beyond her ability to reign in and she was already trying to find a way to summarize as best as she could when, to her surprise, the commander nodded.

"Understood, thank you Thirty-six. I'll have the echelons ready a perimeter and set up observation posts. Warn M-four and requisition additional supply while I prep a team for a quick reactionary force-"

"I would like to make a request, master."

She knew why he was so stunned in that instant. This wasn't 36's standard operating procedure, but something in the back of her digimind SCREAMED for her to take action. Watching over the commander and tending the command room, she knew it was her programmed duty to do so… but for so long now she had been simply _watching_.

Helpless when the other dolls were beleaguered, just as trapped as field teams when they requested support, all she could do was simply relay and process situational information- something that the commander already proved more than capable of. Operation Stargazer… it had shown 36 that even a logistics-focused T-doll like herself was capable of going toe-to-toe with a _ringleader_.

She was meant to fight. Dammit… she was _programmed_ to fight. M4 helped her see that, and she hadn't had the chance to thank her for it.

"Speak it, Thirty-six." The commander seemed ready for what she was going to ask. His voice was grave, expectant to something that he didn't want to hear.

"I wish to be deployed as part of the reactionary force. Please."

* * *

'_M4. Urgent.'_ STAR pinged suddenly after an hour of controlled silence, '_Check the data I sent.'_

An increase of traffic on the SF network. If it had been a gentle river of data back and forth before, it was like someone had opened the dam's pressure valves now. Worse yet, Griffin intelligence had all but confirmed a ringleader down to its unit name, "Intruder". S09 was lighting up like a city with the amount of command signals being sent out. Whoever this "Intruder" model was, subtlety had gone out the window. They were pulling units from all across the sector and sending them… north- straight to the commander.

M4 had command access, she knew exactly what the commander had available to him, and the numbers she was predicting… the current echelons in-field would be overrun by the morning.

A panic, a conundrum that M4 didn't _need_ right now! They were so close! If M16 moved again then…

M16 was the priority, but leaving the commander's dolls…

It _felt_ wrong to leave them without support. Even with no dummies, Anti-Rain was fully capable of disrupting and dividing Sangvis formations- they were the elites for a reason.

'_Think, M4! Think!'_ She barked at herself, throwing more processing at her tactical and predictive programs. She could feel SOP and STAR's eyes on her- they were judging her worth, waiting to see if M4 would make the right decision. But what _was_ the right decision!?

'_M4?'_ SOP pinged. It was quiet, cautious, completely unlike the usual boisterous and intrusive SOP, '_Borrow some of my processing.'_

'_If SOP even has any left from pumping up her combat protocols. Borrow some of mine too.' _STAR pinged.

Emotion welled up, lighting up every circuit and neural-connection- so much that it flooded over. Appreciation, thanks, relief. STAR had looked away, a sudden change in her face pigmentation…

A warning cracked through the network, like a gunshot in a silent room. It brought M4 back into focus, shifting everything she had into running two predictive processes at once.

SF was moving reinforcements down four main supply routes, one of which was near where M16's last breadcrumb pointed to. If M16 was in the area still, then the combat might flush her out of hiding to help as well. If not, then they'd simply break contact and go to ground again, using M16's fresh breadcrumb as a rally point.

The only variable with the plan was if the ringleader was nearby _their_ area of operation. That was a pretty big variable. M4 hesitated, biting her lip as she weighed the options.

'_We need a decision, M4. The clock has been ticking.' _STAR pinged. It was cold- she didn't think that the Griffin teams were worth compromising their mission for. What would her big sister do? What would M16...

No. No this wasn't about M16 anymore. M4 was the team leader, and it would have to be _her_ decision, not M16's.

"We drive for the third marked MSR, closest to M16's clue, and ambush the Sangvis reinforcements that move through." M4 didn't look at STAR, she instinctively knew what kind of expression she'd see on her friend's face. SOP, at least, took the news of coming battle with her usual simple excitement.

But M4? What did she feel now? It wasn't relief like she had hoped- actually coming to a decision wasn't the hard part of this whole affair. Dread. A crushing, paralyzing anxiety that most dolls programmed with its simulacrum would _never_ understand the reasoning or depths for.

She shoved it down, beat it back for now. Ammo and weapon checks, energy levels set for combat, the battle-plan clear. Channel that little bit of M16's bravado...

They were Anti-Rain and they were more than capable of fighting a little bit of an entire Sangvis-controlled yellow-zone. Just a little sideshow to their main mission. They'd make their big sister proud.


	31. Chapter 25: ANTIRAIN - M16

M16 had this feeling she couldn't fully explain with logic. It was like someone was watching her, tracking her, and she _hated_ that feeling. At first she thought it was the ringleader again, but she threw that hypothesis out almost an hour into her current evasive maneuvers. Sangvis ringleaders were the kind of hunters that used hounds- they sent out their little drones and dummies to probe and flush before moving in for the kill.

This one tracked, it stalked and skulked. It showed a level of cunning and understanding of its prey that only the most advanced ringleader models had. M16 had only picked up that she was being stalked after a hunch- she had left behind a proximity audio sensor three kilometres back at her last breadcrumb and sure enough, twenty minutes after she received an audio-file ping.

From then on, she was set to full alert. Pace cut in half, audio and visual cranked to the maximum they could go. Her stalker had gained in that time, still able to follow M16's barely noticeable traces- one hell of a formidable model if that were the case. Going toe-to-toe with an unknown ringleader solo… she could _do_ it, but wouldn't come out of it in any condition that M4 would find "acceptable"- and she had to look her best for the reunion with the team.

And speak of the devil… her closed network snapped to life that very moment. Someone had found the coded network cipher she had left behind. Immediately she tapped into it.

'_...this... is this the correct communication signal?'_

'_Come in, come in.' _M16 hailed back to that little pulse of nervous energy. Like a flower blooming, excitement and relief burst forth from the doll on the other end of M16's line, but no actual message. '_Uhhh… M4A1, do you copy me?' _She pinged again.

'_M16!? M16 are you okay?'_

'_Ah, yeah. I'm good, M4.'_ If M16 were to be honest, it felt a little embarrassing to be the object of such concern, and she was already bad enough with networked communication- it felt… weird. '_Does this mean that everyone's met up now?' _She pivoted quickly, flipping the concern back to M4 before she had to admit that her current situation was not exactly the best. If her little sister grilled her on her current situation, well M16 would be hard pressed to lie.

'_STAR and SOP II are both here, we're just waiting on you now.'_

'_That's great. I need you to just relax a second.' _There was still nervousness pulsing out from M4, poor girl still hadn't fully taken control over herself yet. '_I'm heading towards an old resupply point but uh… there's a problem I need to take care of first.'_

'_What other problem? M16!? How long?'_

That creeping feeling was closer than ever before. A shadow breathing down her neck. She needed to shake whatever this thing was before meeting back up with M4. If it was that Agent model-

'_Ah- listen, I'm going to hang up now. Meet me at the marked resupply.'_

'_Wait, M16!'_

It hurt to hang up so suddenly on her sister, but there were more pressing concerns now. That feeling was closer, no… it was _here_. She felt like a deer in the cross-hairs, and just like a startled doe, M16 bolted. Just escape and evade wouldn't be enough.

'_Found you.'_ A cold, electronic voice cut into M16's communication line. Private channel, tapped directly in. Not at all like a ringleader's forceful hijack of the radio-waves.

_***Pap pap***_

Clear audio, suppressed rifle just at the edge of her extended audio detectors. M16 was already swinging her case the moment she had detected the first decibel pop. Two rounds slammed into the hardened plate right at head level, and she couldn't help but whistle in appreciation at the shot.

But these were bullets, not bolts of plasma.

M16 could only grin at her luck today. Only a T-doll could make that shot, and only a rogue T-Doll would even shoot at her to begin with. A rogue doll with such a hard-on for M16 that she'd stalk her for three kilometres? There was only one of those that M16 knew of.

Movement, shifting _just _outside M16's detection radius- a flanking maneuver. M16 moved with the predicted path, always keeping the weapons case covering her vitals. Two more taps of a suppressed rifle, this time the rounds striking low, one whizzing between M16's legs, the other striking the bottom end of the case.

Clever attempt, can't maneuver if her legs were shot up. M16 dropped to a crouch, completely hunkering behind the case as two more shots cracked in. She could return fire… but without any accurate data on where to shoot, she'd just be making noise for SF pick up on.

Two more bullets cracked off the case _dangerously _close to her face- from the old angle. Her unseen enemy had either doubled back to the previous fighting location in half the time- or there were two shooters.

Her stalker was _trying_ to mess with her triangulation. If they wanted to play the shadowy maneuver game, fine; they could play that game all they wanted. M16 just wouldn't play by their rules.

So she fell back, mapping the data of the terrain around her. There was clearing to the south-west, a good spot. She set her predictive program to target the center of the empty clearing.

Thirty spots the highlighted as optimal attacking points, narrowed down to the most preferable for denying return fire... left just ten positions. As M16 skidded to a stop in the center of the clearing, she could further narrow it down to only the locations that gave a flanking angle to get past her case-turn-shield.

Only the most perfect angle on M16 would do. It had to be _flawless _to hit her- or at least that was what her opponent would go for. M16 ripped the pin from a flash-bang and teased the spoon. Her unseen enemy would be in place in three… two… one-

She pitched the flash-bang out to the right, three trees deep into the forest line. It would have been the perfect angle- a threaded shot past several tree trunks against M16's supposedly blind side. If someone was staring down the scope at her, they were blinded now.

Two panicked shots, still as deadly accurate as before cracked into the armored case.

But M16 wasn't there anymore. Unburdened by the case or her rifle's weight, she sprinted full tilt towards the shooter, making sure there was always a tree-trunk in the way as she closed the gap. A burst tore into a nearby tree, showering M16 with splinters- so the enemy had managed to reboot their audio before their visual... that was fine. M16 erupted from the foliage next to them, grabbing for the rifle's barrel and swinging it out and away.

Her CQC programs engaged, cutting out everything else.

-_target pivoting weapon for new fire angle angle, off balance ten degrees. _

_[Strike inner elbow, leverage new break, pivot rifle down and out of hands, co-opt weapon]_

_-Sling still attached, unable to co-opt weapon, target reaching for sidearm._

_[Pull weapon, knee target holster leg, break enemy's stance. Pivot body, use weapon sling to leverage enemy in over-hip throw.]_

The rogue doll hit the forest floor, trying to twist their fall to get their sidearm on target. They never got that far, M16 kicked the USP out of the doll's hand long before its firing arc intersected with her. In one final stroke, she hit the sling-swivel's quick release, freeing herself from the tangle with the rogue doll's weapon in hand.

It felt nice, felt familiar- her firing core was semi-compatible with it. M16 backed up out of CQC range, pointing the rogue doll's own weapon back at her. There in the dirt, the ashen-haired doll stayed- not disabled, just upset in their defeat.

"Why…? I'm the better doll." The rogue doll's question didn't seem to be aimed at anyone in particular, more a lament than anything else. M16 decided to give her the painful answer the doll was seeking.

"A lot of reasons. Experience, reaction time, training… You fall short on all of the above- you rely too much on your core programming, Four-sixteen."

HK416 still hadn't picked herself up yet, so M16 kept her at gunpoint. Even though M16 held all the cards now, she still ran the predictions- what other moves could 416 make to get out of check?

"You never run out of ways to criticize, do you, M-Sixteen?"

She could hear 416's teeth grinding together, the elite doll's fists now balled up so tight they could crush diamonds- but 416 _still_ hadn't moved. It didn't make M16 relax in the slightest- this was when the rogue doll was at her most dangerous.

"There is no such thing as perfect, Four-sixteen. Stop claiming yourself as such."

_***Krrrkkk***_

M16 didn't need her enhanced audio to hear _those_ teeth grinding together. At this point, she was growing more worried that HK416 would simply detonate with the amount of raw animosity pumping through her mindmap- thermals were picking her up like a damn sunspot in the frigid night's air.

And at all at once, 416 relaxed, venting her heat in a single deflating hiss through the teeth. "What am I to you?" She asked.

M16 sighed. _This_ again?

"You really want to know, huh? Alright, Four-sixteen, I'll tell you." M16 gently let off of the trigger, but kept the weapon trained on the rogue T-doll. Let her words be the bullets, for now. "I was fond of you back in StateSec, but now… now you're boring, you're worthless. You mean absolutely nothing to me." M16 had long since severed those connections to 416. They were a temporary mind-map modification anyways, a sort of test for M16's functionality. The eventual road-map for M4, nothing more than that. Only 416 didn't see it that way.

She mulled over telling 416 everything- to just break the elite doll's sense of self over her knee, but another bit of her digimind ruled against it. Not out of pity- _never_ out of pity- but out of a need to keep an existential bullet for if 416 came at her again like this. For now, 416 was still a useful tool, but she needed to learn her place. M16 was content to let her former teammate stay in the dirt, where she _belonged_.

"...I _hate_ you." 416 hissed through gritted teeth. She sat up, grabbing her beret from the forest floor as she stared down the barrel of her own weapon. "How is it you can point that so coldly at an old _friend_ with no stutters or hesitation?"

"Well, no doll can turn themselves off completely. That's the problem with all of us." M16 replied, "But I can make exceptions- a lot like _you_ can."

"I never enjoyed that exception." 416 spat, glaring so deeply at M16 that it felt like she were trying to send a terabyte's worth of hate through looks alone.

416 hadn't gone for her handgun and wouldn't be able to even if she wanted- at least not before M16 was on top of her with bayonet in hand. Lowering 416's threat status, M16 moved closer to where the handgun lay, tearing down the upper and lower receiver and stripping out the bolt before throwing it all back at 416.

"I'm through with you, Four-sixteen. I have an anxious sister to get back to, and I can't be wasting my time with a doll who won't even come at me with everything. Stay out of my way." M16 pointed threateningly.

"So… that's your weakness, huh?" 416 mumbled, reassembling her rifle without any sense of urgency. M16 lowered her threat value to ten percent- but not completely wiped yet. After all, 416 was still _alive_, though M16 could change that at a moment's notice if she tried to assemble and fire. She swept up 416's discarded sidearm...

The safety was still on, the little-

"You better learn to keep your mouth shut, and remember this little lesson..." M16 growled, holding the barrel end of 416's handgun out to her. When the doll grabbed hold, M16 refused let go, instead pulling 416 forward, eye to eyes with those shocking green irises of hers.

"If you don't, I'll make your digimind calculate the fastest way to get around your self-harm safeties, got it?"

"_Tch."_ 416 broke eye-contact first, muttering under her breath. As close as an acknowledgement that M16 would ever get from her.

"_And for you._" M16 turned her attention towards where she had left her case and rifle, shouting at the shadowy figure standing beside it, "_I'll see to you in a moment_."

They were learning against M16's weapon case when she entered the clearing again. Exactly who she _expected_ to see, but not necessarily who she _wanted_ to.

"Yo." UMP-45 gave M16 a lazy wave. Yep, definitely not who M16 wanted to see right now. She kept her grimace down to just a pursing of the lips, but that was all she could get it down to.

"Where are the rest of your little team of misfits?"

UMP-45 shrugged, that same smug smile on her face as in the redacted files, but the small doll said nothing else.

"I'm about to pull back." M16 grunted, approaching 45 cautiously, "I don't suppose you're here to finish what Four-sixteen started."

UMP-45 hummed a little note to herself, tilting her head to the side. "When you're carrying around _this _much firepower-" she patted the case, causing M16 to take a threatening step forward, hand hovering over her bayonet handle. 45 threw her hands up and took a step away, grinning all the while as she continued, "I don't know if I want to tempt you."

"Well, I'm pretty sure it wasn't designed to be used on _you_, wouldn't you say?

"I would be inclined to agree." 45 turned her head over to where 416 must still be mulling over M16's words. "I was just on my way home too- after I picked up Four-sixteen from her little excursion out."

"Excursion." M16 scoffed, checking her rifle and case- nothing messed with, nothing planted on them. She relaxed slightly, glancing back to 45. "Funny how her idea of an excursion is testing the readiness of my combat processes."

"Oh don't you worry. She wouldn't _kill_ you unless I gave her express orders to do so."

"I know, which is why she's sitting in dirt pouting instead of having a bullet in her cranial case."

"And _that _is why I'll let you waltz back to your team to play big sister with what time you have left."

_That_ smugness. It grated at everything that M16 had programmed into her personality. She plucked her rifle sling off of the case and threw it over her shoulder, trying her best to appear polite and cordial. That lasted about a second and a half with UMP-45 staring at her like _that_. "Why is it you're always talking like you know something that you shouldn't." M16 sighed.

45 shrugged, but gave M16 a knowing wink. "Maybe because I always know things that I shouldn't. You'll be throwing your life away if you head back there, you know."

"Still the same bitter girl then…" M16 frowned with a shake of her head. "You underestimate sixteen-lab's neural-cloud tech. I won't die so easily."

45's smile had dropped, replaced with a deathly seriousness. She always knew that 45 had a problem with humans but this warning… it wasn't from that place of mistrust and petty revenge. _That_ had grabbed M16's attention.

"What'd you learn that was so game-changing?"

45 motioned for M16 to lean in. The covert doll placed her mouth right up to M16's ear.

"_It's raining on the plain._" She whispered at a barely audible level, pulling away from M16 faster than the veteran doll had ever anticipated the girl could move, her namesake firearm ready in her hands now.

"Raining? Plain?" M16's eye narrowed at the secretive doll before her, hand drifting towards the pistol grip of her rifle as well, "I don't have cyphering programs like your little black-box does. Speak plainly this time."

45 was quietly regarding M16. Was she… scanning her, checking her IFF signal? It made M16 run a quick one over herself as well. All systems were green… so just what was going on?

UMP-45 sighed, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a thumb-drive alongside small tablet-like device. She plugged the thumb drive into it and with a few swipes of her finger, a recording crackled from the device's speakers.

"_...the data we pulled from Commander __***static*'**__s infiltration operation, as well as from __***static***_ _and __***static***_ _mentions that there is a shift in Sangvis that contradicts basic battle strategies. The current battle for Area __***static***_ _further demonstrates this shift to asymmetric tactics that we must be ready for. If you look at these comparisons-"_

"Hey now, don't just go spouting off in replay mode… and what was with the voice filter? Just what exactly-"

"Ask your creator, she'll know what it means. That is, if you still trust her."

"What did you just say?" M16 still hadn't completely taken up her rifle, but did take a threatening step forward. She could take the slights against _her_, but the moment someone talked down about Persica, well that was where M16 drew the line.

"Humans use us as tools," 45 said softly, tucking the device back in her pocket, "Even those with the best of intentions. Anyways, I've got the bit I wanted, so I'm taking my leave of the AO."

"You kicked a wasp's nest and expect us to take care of it for you?" M16 grimaced, finally putting together just what _they_ were doing here.

"Well of _course_." 45 grinned, "Besides, you _owe_ me, you just don't realize it yet. Anyways, it's about time she learns to walk on her own, right?"

M16 had half the mind to put a bullet into 45 right now for putting M4 at risk too but…

Something was telling her that she should listen to 45. Something was amiss and while they had the pieces, they just couldn't fit them all together.

"Oh, and when you regroup with Griffin tell them-"

"I know… there was nothing here." M16 rolled her eye, turning her back so that UMP-45 could slip away back to whatever sewer she had crawled out from. When there was no more audio-pickup, she let out the biggest sigh of relief she had ever registered to her emotion module. Yes, she most certainly could never get along with that doll.

"There better not be a '_next time'._" M16 mumbled, throwing her jacket back on and hefting her weapon case. This was no longer a training lesson for M4- there was something deeper going on that M16 just didn't have the mind-map to figure out. She missed when things were simple: "_Go here, neutralize hostiles." _or "_Protect VIP, escort to safe-zone."_... hell, she'd even take a "_Stand guard forty-eight hour watch." _Now things were... complicated.

But critical thinking and autonomy were what Persica wanted... no, _expected_ from her, and right now every fiber and circuit of her digimind was telling her to group back up with M4. As much as she wanted her little sister to finally fend for herself, this looming sensation felt _too_ big for even the whole of the AR team to tackle. Call it an old soldier's intuition, but something was changing.


End file.
